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 this 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 shel­tered 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 quick­en­ing 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,
Decked with a ne­ver-fail­ing 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 tongues 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!