'Tis precious now to me;
Through it alone my soul has rest,
From fear and doubt set free.
Oh, wondrous is the crimson tide,
Which from my Saviour flowed !
And still in heaven my song shall be,
he precious, precious blood I
2I will remember now no more—
God's faithful Word has said—
he follies and the sins of him
For whom My Son has bled.
3 Not all my well-remembered sins
Can startle or dismay:
That precious blood atones for all,
And bears my guilt away.
4 Perhaps this feeble frame of mine
Will soon in sickness lie;
But, resting on that precious blood,
How peacefully I'll die !