Cho.—­Oh, the blood, the precious blood,
        That Jesus shed for me;
      Upon the cross, in crimson flood,
        Just now by faith I see.

2 The cross, the cross, that heavy cross,
  My Savior bore for me;
It bowed him to the earth with grief
  On sad Mount Calvary

3 The wounds, the wounds, those painful wounds;
  Oh, they were made for me! 
His hands and feet, his holy head,
  All pierced and torn I see.

4 The death, the death, the awful death! 
  That Jesus died for me;
I heard his groans, his prayer, “Forgive,”
  His bleeding side I see.

5 The love, the love, the matchless love,
  That bled upon the tree! 
It melts my heart, it wins my love,
  It brings me, Lord, to thee.

     J.H.  Stockton.

126 Gorton.  S.M.

Our Ransom Paid. (296)

Our sins on Christ were laid;
  He bore the mighty load;
Our ransom price he fully paid
  In groans, and tears, and blood.

2 To save a world he dies;
  Sinners, behold the Lamb! 
To him lift up your longing eyes;
  Seek mercy in his name.

3 Pardon and peace abound;
  He will your sins forgive;
Salvation in his name is found,—­
  He bids the sinner live.

4 Jesus, we look to thee;—­
  Where else can sinners go? 
Thy boundless love shall set us free
  From wretchedness and woe.

     J. Fawcett, 1760.

127 Gorton.  S.M.

For Me He Died. (300)

Are there no wounds for me? 
  Hast thou received them all? 
How can I, Lord, the anguish see,
  Beneath which thou didst fall?

2 ’Tis over now, I know,—­
  That suffering life of thine;
Thy precious blood has ceased to flow,
  Thou wear’st thy crown divine;

3 But yet, I weeping see
  The thorns which pierced thy head;
Thou faint’st beneath thy cross for me,
  For me to death thou’rt led!

4 Meekly, with love divine,
  Thy holy head is bent,
And streams of blood, for sins of mine,
  Flow where thy side is rent.

5 Beneath this sacred flood
  I bow my sinful soul;
Dear Savior, let thy precious blood
  Wash me and make me whole.

     Mrs. Grace Webster Hinsdale, 1868.

128 Owen.  S.M.

The Savior’s Tears. (298)

Did Christ o’er sinners weep,
  And shall our cheeks be dry? 
Let floods of penitential grief
  Burst forth from every eye.

2 The Son of God in tears—­
  The wondering angels see! 
Be thou astonished, O my soul! 
  He shed those tears for thee.

3 He wept—­that we might weep—­
  Each sin demands a tear;
In heaven alone no sin is found,
  And there’s no weeping there.

     Benjamin Beddome, 1787.

129 Toplady. 7s, 6.