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The Precious Blood



Before thy cross I kneel and see
      the heinousness of my sin,
      my iniquity that caused thee to be
        ‘made a curse’,
      the evil that excites the severity
        of divine wrath.
Show me the enormity of my guilt by
  the crown of thorns,
  the pierced hands and feet,
  the bruised body,
  the dying cries.
Thy blood is the blood of incarnate God,
  its worth infinite, its value beyond all thought.
Infinite must be the evil and guilt
  that demands such a price.
Sin is my malady, my monster, my foe, my viper,
  born in my birth,
  alive in my life,
  strong in my character,
  dominating my faculties,
  following me as a shadow,
  intermingling with my every thought,
  my chain that holds me captive in the
    empire of my soul.
Sinner that I am, why should the sun give me light,
  the air supply breath,
  the earth bear my tread,
  its fruits nourish me,
  its creatures subserve my ends?
Yet thy compassions yearn over me,
  thy heart hastens to my rescue,
  thy love endured my curse,
  thy mercy bore my deserved stripes.
Let me walk humbly in the lowest depths
    of humiliation,
  bathed in thy blood,
  tender of conscience,
  triumphing gloriously as an heir of salvation.

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