Sweet blood from Mary's veins didst take
And shed it all for me:
Oh, blessèd be my Saviour's blood,
My light, my life, my only good,
To all eternity.
To endless ages let us praise
The precious blood, whose price could raise
The world from wrath and sin:
Whose streams our inward thirst appease
And heal the sinner's worst disease,
If he but bathe therein.
Oh, sweetest blood, that can implore
Pardon of God, and heaven restore,
The heaven which sin had lost;
While Abel's blood for vengeance pleads,
What Jesus shed still intercedes
For those who wrong him most.
Oh, to be sprinkled from the wells
Of Christ's own sacred blood, excels
Earth's best and highest bliss;
The ministers of wrath divine
Hurt not the happy hearts that shine
With those red drops of his.
Ah, there is joy amid the saints,
And hell's despairing courage faints
When this sweet song we raise:
Oh, louder then, and louder still,
Earth with one mighty chorus fill,
The precious blood to praise.
[18TH CENT. TR. F.W. FABER, 1814-62]
THE WESTMINSTER HYMNAL, No. 95