Guilty, but with heart relenting,
Overwhelmed with helpless grief,
Prostrate at Thy feet repining,
Send, O send me quick relief.

Whither should a wretch be flying,
But to Him Who comfort gives?
Whither, from the dread of dying,
But to Him Who ever lives?

While I view Thee, wounded, grieving,
Breathless, on the cursèd tree,
Fain, I’d feel my heart believing,
That Thou sufferedst thus for me.

With Thy righteousness and Spirit,
I am more than angels blest;
Heir with Thee, all things inherit,
Peace, and joy, and endless rest.

Saved! The deed shall spread new glory
Through the shining realms above;
Angels sing the pleasing story,
All enraptured with Thy love.