By A Collection of Hymns

      L.M.
      1 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.

      2 Take my poor heart, and let it be
      For ever closed to all but thee!
      Seal thou my breast, and let me we;
      That pledge of love for ever there!

      3 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.

      4 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!

      5 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-fading crown?

      6 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."

      7 Ah, Lord! enlarge our scanty thought,
      To know the wonders thou hast wrought;
      Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell
      Thy love immense, unsearchable.

      8 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!