1 My dear Redeemer, dying God,
Who wast a Man like me,
Once nail'd to the accursed Wood,
My guilty Soul to free:
I love to hear of all thy Smart,
(Thou bear'st it all for me)
To see thy open bleeding Heart,
Where I from Sin am free.
2 Thy Blood is Gilead's Balm indeed,
Thy People's Hurt it heals;
Revives and quickens from the Dead,
My Pardon writes and seals:
Sown deeply in thy bleeding Wounds,
I firmly rooted am;
My Root, my Growth, my Fruit abounds,
In thee, thou spotless Lamb.
3 To Sin, Law, and the World, I'm dead,
Now by thy Death and Blood;
With thee, my Christ, my Life is hid
In all the Pow'r of God:
When thou, my Life, with Trumpets blown,
Appear'st on Clouds of Heav'n,
Then shall that glorious Life be known,
Which God to me hath giv'n.