Jesus, Je­sus, full of all com­pas­sion,
Hear Thy hum­ble sup­pli­ant’s cry;
Let me know Thy great sal­va­tion,
See, I lang­uish, faint and die.

Guilty, but with heart re­lent­ing,
Overwhelmed with help­less grief,
Prostrate at Thy feet re­pin­ing,
Send, O send me quick re­lief.

Whither should a wretch be fly­ing,
But to Him who com­fort gives?
Whither, from the dread of dy­ing,
But to Him who ev­er lives?

While I view Thee, wound­ed, griev­ing,
Breathless, on the curs­èd tree,
Fain, I’d feel my heart be­liev­ing,
That Thou suf­fered thus for me.

With Thy right­eous­ness and Spir­it,
I am more than an­gels blest;
Heir with Thee, all things in­her­it,
Peace, and joy, and end­less rest.

Saved! The deed shall spread new glo­ry
Through the shin­ing realms above;
Angels sing the pleas­ing sto­ry,
All en­rap­tured with Thy love.