God’s ho­ly law trans­gressed,
Speaks no­thing but des­pair;
Burdened with guilt, with grief op­pressed,
We find no com­fort there.

Not all our groans and tears,
Nor works which we have done,
Nor vows, nor pro­mis­es, nor pray­ers,
Can e’er for sin atone.

Relief alone is found
In Jesus’ pre­cious blood;
’Tis this that heals the mor­tal wound,
And re­con­ciles to God.

High lift­ed on the cross,
The spot­less Vic­tim dies;
This is sal­va­tion’s on­ly source,
And hence our hopes arise.