Hymns on the Lord's Supper, 120

Father, see the Victim slain,
Jesus Christ, the just, the good,
Offer'd up for guilty man,
Pouring out His precious blood;
Him, and then the sinner see,
Look through Jesu's wounds on me.

Me, the sinner most distrest,
Most afflicted and forlorn,
Stranger to a moment's rest,
Rueing that I e'er was born,
Pierced with sin's envenom'd dart,
Dying, of a broken heart.

Dying, whom Thy hands have made
All Thy blessings to receive;
Dying, whom Thy love hath stay'd,
Whom Thy pity would have live;
Dying at my Saviour's side,
Dying, for whom Christ hath died.

Can it, Father, can it be?
What doth Jesu's blood reply?
If it doth not plead for me,
Let my soul for ever die;
But if mine through Him Thou art.
Speak the pardon to my heart.