All is ful­filled—my heart, re­cord
The dy­ing words of thy dear Lord.
When He those bit­ter pains sus­tain­èd,
Which on the cross thy life ob­tain­èd,
He who did all things well,
Then bowed His head,
Exclaiming, It is fin­ish­èd.

All is ful­filled—the cross hath wrought
Whate’er the Law and pro­phets taught.
Where all the strength of na­ture fail­èd,
There Je­su’s wounds for all avail­èd.
That which be­fore the worlds
Heav’n coun­sel­èd,
Now through His death is fin­ish­èd.

All is ful­filled—all sa­tis­fied:
The Fa­ther lays His wrath aside;
Our peace is made, and jus­tice still­èd,
Since God’s own Son hath all ful­fill­èd.
What then shall wake the heart
To anx­ious dread?
Believe now, It is fin­ish­èd.

All is ful­filled—I am made free
Possessed of true fe­li­ci­ty:
Now Je­sus sin and death sub­du­eth,
And us with life and grace re­new­eth;
So when to dis­so­lu­tion
Worlds are led,
This stays us—It is fin­ish­èd.