Before Thy face, with lift­ed hands,
My help­less­ness, O God, I plead;
Look on the form of Him who stands
With Thee, for me to in­ter­cede.

The marks of sin are on His brow,
Yea, in His hands, and feet, and side,
Here ere the fount­ains hence did flow
For all my guilt, the cleans­ing tide.

My sins helped eave the thor­ny crown,
The nails ere driv­en for my guilt;
On me His eyes ere look­ing down
When free­ly thus His blood as spilt.

With brok­en heart and bow­ing head,
Fallen up­on my bend­ed knee,
I hear the words, For­give him, said,
And now I know He mean­eth me.

His name hath led me to Thy throne;
His work for me this bold­ness gives;
I no­thing am, I glad­ly on,
I live re­deemed be­cause He lives.