Salvete Christi vulnera

Hail wounds! which through eternal years
The love of Jesus shew;
Hail wounds! from whence encrimson’d rills
Of blood for ever flow.

More precious than the gems of Ind,
Than all the stars more fair;
Nor honeycomb, nor fragrant rose,
Can once with you compare.

Through you is open’d to our souls
A refuge safe and calm,
Whither no raging enemy
Can reach to work us harm.

What countless stripes did Christ receive
Naked in Pilate’s hall!
From his torn flesh what streams of blood
Did all around Him fall!

How doth th’ ensanguin’d thorny crown
That beauteous brow transpierce!
How do the nails those hands and feet
Contract with tortures fierce!

He bows his head, and forth at last
His loving spirit soars;
Yet even after death his heart
For us its tribute pours.

Beneath the wine-press of God’s wrath
His Blood for us He drains;
Till for Himself, O wondrous love!
No single drop remains.

Oh, come all ye in whom are fix’d
The deadly stains of sin!
Come! wash in this all-saying Blood,
And ye shall be made clean.

Praise Him, who with the Father sits
Enthron’d upon the skies;
Whose Blood redeems our souls from guilt,
Whose Spirit sanctifies.