Drawn to the cross, which Thou has blest
With heal­ing gifts for souls dis­tressed,
To find in Thee my life, my rest,
Christ Cru­ci­fied, I come.

Thou know­est all my griefs and fears,
Thy grace ab­used, my mis­spent years;
Yet now to Thee with con­trite tears,
Christ Cru­ci­fied, I come.

Wash me and take away each stain;
Let no­thing of my sin re­main.
For cleans­ing, tho’ it be thro’ pain,
Christ Cru­ci­fied, I come.

And then for work to do for Thee,
Which shall so sweet a ser­vice be
That an­gels well might en­vy me,
Christ Cru­ci­fied, I come.