How is our na­ture spoiled by sin!
Yet na­ture ne’er hath found
The way to make the con­science clean,
Or heal the pain­ful wound.

In vain we seek for peace with God
By me­thods of our own:
O Je­sus, no­thing but Thy blood
Can bring us near the throne.

The threat­en­ings of Thy brok­en law
Impress our souls with dread;
If God His sword of ven­geance draw,
It strikes our spir­its dead.

But Thine il­lus­tri­ous sac­ri­fice
Hath an­swered these de­mands:
And peace and par­don from the skies
Came down by Je­sus’ hands.

Here all the an­cient types agree,
The al­tar and the lamb;
And pro­phets in their vi­sions see
Salvation through His name.

’Tis by Thy death we live, O Lord,
’Tis on Thy cross we rest;
For ev­er be Thy love ad­ored,
Thy name for ev­er blessed.