For One that is Sick, Before Using the Means of Recovery, Hymn 3

Jesus, was ever love like Thine,
So strong, and permanent, and pure!
Strange mystery this of love Divine,
That stripes should heal, and death should cure.

How costly was the medicine, Lord,
The medicine which Thy wounds supplied!
That I might live, to health restored,
My Lamb, my good Physician died.

My God, my all, O Christ, Thou art,
On Thee for every good I call,
Thy death shall life and strength impart;
O Christ, Thou art my God, my all.

Let others to the creature fly,
I still betake me to Thy blood,
I on Thy only blood rely
For life, for physic, and for food.

Thy blood did all my sorrows calm,
And ease the anguish of my soul,
And when I ask for GileacFs Balm,
It still is near to make me whole.

Thy powerful blood can clothe again
My feeble flesh with strength renew'd,
Sorrow, and malady, and pain
Shall fly before Thy powerful blood.

Whate'er my heavenly Father wills.
Through faith in Thee I still receive,
Thy blood my every promise seals,
And quicken'd by Thy blood I live.

Thy blood shall wash me white as snow;
It now hath brought me near to God,
And all my gifts and blessings flow
Through the dear channel of Thy blood.

To buy, and make me free indeed,
The ransom of Thy blood was given,
For me Thy blood on earth was shed,
And now it intercedes in heaven.

It speaks to God, my God, for me,
For me obtains whate'er is best;
And lo! the bleeding Lamb I see,
And in Thy wounds for ever rest.