Oh, bliss of the pu­ri­fied, bliss of the free,
I plunge in the crim­son tide opened for me;
O’er sin and un­clean­ness
Exulting I stand,
And point to the print of the nails in His hand.

Refrain

Oh, sing of His migh­ty love,
Sing of His migh­ty love,
Sing of His migh­ty love,
Mighty to save.

Oh, bliss of the pu­ri­fied! Je­sus is mine,
No long­er in dread con­dem­na­tion I pine;
In con­scious sal­va­tion
I sing of His grace,
Who lift­ed upon me the light of His face.

Refrain

Oh, bliss of the pu­ri­fied! bliss of the pure!
No wound hath the soul that His blood cannot cure;
No sor­row-bowed head
But may sweet­ly find rest,
No tears—but may dry them on Je­sus’ breast.

Refrain

O Je­sus the Cru­ci­fied! Thee will I sing,
My blessèd Re­deem­er, my God and my king;
My soul, filled with rap­ture,
Shall shout o’er the grave,
And tri­umph in death in the Migh­ty to Save.

Refrain