1 Thou art my blest Portion, thou dear Nazarene,
Who once was oppressed,
And sorely distressed,
When thou didst lie under my Curse and my Shame,
To save me for-ever, ador'd be thy Name.
2 There in that deep Wound, I view in thy Side,
I see my Election,
And all my Perfection;
Beholding the Glory of thy Blood-bought Bride,
Amongst the dear Number who in thee confide.
3 Now I can behold thee, Love, bleeding for me!
I bow to none other,
But thee my dear Lover,
With Wonder I view thee on the bloody Tree,
And hear thee, lamb, crying 'Tis finish'd for thee:
4 That Moment I prov'd the Grace of thy Name,
Where all Things I wanted
Unto me was granted;
Yea, mine is thy Fulness that's always the same,
That still I might praise thee, thou meek slaughter'd Lamb.