The Blood of Christ, Thy Spotless Lamb

The blood of Christ

Thy spot­less Lamb

O God

is all my plea;

Naught else could for my sin atone;

I have no mer­it of my own

Which I can bring to Thee.

No sac­ri­fice save His who bore

My load up­on the tree

No oth­er plea which lips could frame

No oth­er blood

no oth­er name

Accepted is by Thee.

Since Christ has en­tered by His blood

The ho­li­est on high;

By that same hal­lowed blood stained track

Thou wel­com­est the wan­der­er back

And bid­dest me draw nigh.

Oh

won­drous cross! Oh pre­cious blood!

Oh death by which I live!

The sin­less One

for me made sin

Doth now His won­drous heart with­in

Eternal re­fuge give.

By that blest cross

that cleans­ing blood

I know His pow­er to save;

The mer­its of His work con­fess

I stand in Him com­plete­ly blest

A con­quer­or o’er the grave.