The Opened Fountain

And I have wounded Thee — oh, wounded Thee ! —
Wounded the dear, dear Hand that holds me fast !
Oh, to recall the word ! That cannot be !
Oh, to unthink the thought that out of reach hath passed!

Sorrow and bitter grief replace my bliss ;
I could not wish that any joy should be;
There is no room for any thought but this,
That I have sinned — have sinned — have wounded Thee !

How could I grieve Thee so ! Thou couldst have kept ;
My fall was not the failure of Thy word.
Thy promise hath no flaw, no dire' except,'
To neutralize the grace so royally conferred.

Oh the exceeding sinfulness of sin !
Tenfold exceeding in the love-lit light
Of Thy sufficient grace, without, within,
Enough for every need, in never-conquered might !

With all the shame, with all the keen distress,
Quick,' waiting not,' I flee to Thee again ;
Close to the wound, beloved Lord, I press,
That Thine own precious blood may overflow the stain.

O precious blood ! Lord, let it rest on me !
I ask not only pardon from my King,
But cleansing from my Priest. I come to Thee
Just as I came at first, — a sinful, helpless thing.

Oh, cleanse me now ! My Lord, I cannot stay
For evening shadows and a silent hour :
Now I have sinned, and now, with no delay,
I claim Thy promise and its total power.

O Saviour, bid me 'go and sin no more,'
And keep me always 'neath the mighty flow
Of Thy perpetual fountain ; I implore
That Thy perpetual cleansing I may fully know.