Victim divine, Thy grace we claim,
While thus Thy pre­cious death we show:
Once of­fered up a spot­less Lamb,
In Thy great tem­ple here below,
Thou didst for all man­kind atone,
And stand­est now be­fore the throne.

Thou stand­est in the ho­ly place,
As now for guil­ty sin­ners slain;
The blood of sprink­ling speaks, and prays,
All pre­va­lent for help­less man;
Thy blood is still our ran­som found,
And speaks sal­va­tion all around.

The smoke of Thy aton­ement here
Darkened the sun, and rent the veil,
Made the new way to Hea­ven ap­pear,
And showed the great In­vi­si­ble;
Well pleased in Thee, our God looked down,
And calls His re­bels to a crown.

He still re­spects Thy sa­cri­fice;
Its sa­vor sweet doth al­ways please:
The of­fer­ing smokes through earth and skies,
Diffusing life, and joy, and peace;
To these, Thy low­er courts, it comes,
And fills them with di­vine per­fumes.

We need not now go up to Hea­ven,
To bring the long sought Sav­ior down;
Thou art to all al­rea­dy giv­en,
Thou dost e’en now Thy ban­quet crown:
To ev­ery faith­ful soul ap­pear,
And show Thy real pre­sence here!