Who is this, coming from Edom, coming on the road from Bosra, with garments deep-dyed? Who is this, so gaily clad, marching so valiantly?

I am one who is faithful to his promises, a champion bringing deliverance.✻

And why are thy garments stained with red? Why dost thou go clad like the men who tread out the wine-press?

None other has trodden the wine-press but I only; out of all the nations, no champion came to stand at my side. I have been treading them down in my anger, trampling on them, full of vengeance; their blood that has been sprinkled on the clothes about me; I come in garments deep-dyed.

My heart told me the time had come for vengeance, this was my destined year of ransom;

looked I all around, there was none to help me; vainly I called for aid. My own arm should bring the deliverance I intended; my own indignation uphold me.✻

I have trampled the peoples down in my anger, stunned them✻ with my fury, brought down their strength to the dust.

Listen, while I tell again the story of the Lord’s mercies, what renown the Lord has won; all the Lord has done for us, all the wealth of blessings his pardoning love, his abounding pity has lavished on the race of Israel.

They are my own people, he would say; my own children cannot be false to me; and with that, he delivered them.

In all their straits, power of his was not straitened;✻ his angel, token of his presence, brought them deliverance. In love and pity he ransomed them, lifted them in his arms and raised them up, all through the days gone by.

Only when they rebelled against him, when they distressed the spirit of his chosen servant,✻ he would turn their enemy, and fight against them.

And even yet he would bethink him of times past, of Moses and the people that once was his.

Where is he now, the God that led them through the sea, his flock with his own appointed shepherds; gave his holy spirit to the man of his choice?✻

Majestic power, that led Moses by the hand; that parted the sea at their coming, to win his name renown.

Through its waters they passed, sure of their foothold as horse that is led through the desert;

carefully as driver on some treacherous hill-side, the Lord’s spirit guided his people. Thus didst thou bring them home, and win thyself honour.

Bethink thee now, in heaven; look down from the palace where thou dwellest, holy and glorious. Where, now, is thy jealous love, where thy warrior’s strength? Where is thy yearning of heart, thy compassion? For me, compassion is none.

Yet, who is our father, Lord, if not thou? Let Abraham disown us, Israel disclaim his own blood, we are thy sons still; is it not thy boast of old, thou hast paid a price for us?

And now, Lord, wouldst thou drive us away from following thee, harden our hearts till worship we have none to give thee? For love of thy own servants, relent, for love of the land that by right is thine.

Is it nothing to thee, enemies of thy holy people should have the mastery, trample thy sanctuary down?

Fared we worse in old days, before ever we called thee King, ever took thy holy name for our watchword?