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.