1 Truest Lover of thy People,
Nought can turn thy Heart from me;
In thy Death thy poor Disciple
Still obtains true Liberty,
Thy blest Word, and Kind Behaviour,
Death and Torments, Wounds and Blood,
Still assures me, O my Saviour,
That thou art my Lord, my God.
2 From thee I can never wander
Fatally, but shall abide
In that bleeding Fountain yonder,
Shelter'd in thy pierced Side:
There my Jesus freely gives me
All the Glory he's receiv'd;
As he dy'd, so now he lives me;
This is Heav'n, when once believ'd.