CCCXLVIII. The Blood of CHRIST cleansing from all Sin.

MY Sins, alas! how foul the Stains!
How deep, and O how wide!
O'er my polluted Soul they spread,
In double Crimson dy'd.

How shall I stand before that GOD,
In whose All-piercing Sight
Some Shades of Darkness seem to veil
The purest Sons of Light?

Where shall I wash these Spots away,
And make my Nature clean?
Since Drops of penitential Grief
Are tinctur'd still with Sin.

Behold a Torrent all divine
Flows from the Saviour's Side,
And strangely bears a crystal Stream
Amidst the purple Tide .

Here will I bathe my spotted Soul,
And make it pure and fair;
Till not the Eye of GOD discern
One soul Pollution there.

Then, drest in Robes of snowy White,
I'll join the shining Band,
And learn new Anthems to the Lamb,
While round his Throne we stand.