^{2 Ref} Yea, he cometh up as a tender plant before Him, And as a root out of a dry land, He hath no form, nor honour, when we observe him, Nor appearance, when we desire him.

^{3 Ref} He is despised, and left of men, A man of pains, and acquainted with sickness, And as one hiding the face from us, He is despised, and we esteemed him not.

^{4 Ref} Surely our sicknesses he hath borne, And our pains -- he hath carried them, And we -- we have esteemed him plagued, Smitten of God, and afflicted.

^{5 Ref} And he is pierced for our transgressions, Bruised for our iniquities, The chastisement of our peace `is' on him, And by his bruise there is healing to us.