I thirst, Thou wounded Lamb of God,

To wash me in Thy cleansing blood,

To dwell within Thy wounds; then pain

Is sweet, and life or death is gain.

Take my poor heart, and let it be

For ever closed to all but Thee!

Seal Thou my breast, and let me wear

That pledge of love for ever there.

How blest are they who still abide

Close shelter’d in Thy bleeding side;

Who life and strength from thence derive.

And by Thee move, and in Thee live!

What are our works but sin and death,

Till Thou Thy quick’ning Spirit breathe?

Thou giv’st the power Thy grace to move—

O wondrous grace! O boundless love!

How can it be, Thou Heavenly King,

That Thou shouldst us to glory bring?

Make slaves the partners of Thy throne,

Deck’d with a never-fading crown

Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o’erflow,

Our words are lost: nor will we know,

Nor will we think of aught, beside

“My Lord, my Love is crucified.”

Ah, Lord enlarge our scanty thought,

To know the wonders Thou hast wrought!

Unloose our stammering tongue, to tell

Thy love, immense, unsearchable!

First-born of many brethren Thou!

To Thee, lo! all our souls we bow:

To Thee our hearts and hands we give:

Thine may we die; Thine may we live.