Was it for sin, for mor­tal guilt,
The Sav­ior gave His vi­tal blood?
For sin amaz­ing ang­uish felt,
The wrath of an of­fend­ed God?

When bleed­ing, groan­ing, on the tree,
He breathed such ago­niz­ing cries,
When na­ture suf­fered, Lord, with Thee,
And dark­ness clothed the mourn­ing skies.

And shall I har­bor in my breast
(O trem­ble, soul, at such a deed)
This dread­ful foe, this fa­tal guest?
’Twas sin that made my Sav­ior bleed.

’Tis sin that would my ru­in prove,
And sink me down to end­less woe;
But O for­bid it, heav’n­ly love,
And save me from the curs­èd foe.

Ye sins, ye cru­el sins, de­part,
Your ty­rant sway I can­not bear;
My right­ful so­ver­eign claims my heart,
And Christ alone shall gov­ern here.

Come, glo­ri­ous con­quer­or, gra­cious Lord,
Thy all-pre­vail­ing pow­er em­ploy;
O come, with Thy re­sist­less word,
These hate­ful ene­mies de­stroy.

So guil­ty, weak, to Thee I fly,
My Lord, my Sav­ior, and my friend,
On Thy al­migh­ty arm re­ly,
On Thy aton­ing blood de­pend.

All of my hope is fixed on Thee,
For Thou alone hast pow­er di­vine;
O come, and con­quer, Lord, for me,
And all the glo­ry shall be Thine.