A priest must hold the people’s place to God,
To represent them and beg for redemption,
As intercessor for his fatal flock –
But how, if he is in the same condition?
For he has no effect if he is fallen,
And for his own sin sacrifices daily,
For then he can not quite complete his calling,
Performing sacrifice perpetually.
Our fitting priest must yet be like to us,
Yet holy, harmless, wholly undefiled,
And separated from all sinful lusts:
One sacrifice to make us reconciled.
A man, yet higher than the heavens, He,
Who gives Himself, the sacrifice sufficient,
Enthroned and perfect God eternally,
When (radiant) to life again He’s risen.
All other priests were then a type of Him,
Their sanctuary, too, a shadowed image.
Yet He is the true minister to men,
The priest – yet sacrifice – without a blemish.