Classic Poem

When, wounded sore, the stricken soul
Lies bleeding and unbound,
One only hand, a pierced hand
Can salve the sinner's wound.

When sorrow swells the laden breast
And tears of anguish flow,
Only one heart, a broken heart,
Can feel the sinner's woe.

When penitence has wept in vain
Over some foul dark spot,
One only stream, a stream of blood,
Can wash away the blot.

'Tis Jesus' blood that washes white,
His hand that brings relief,
His heart that's touched with all our joys,
And feeleth for our grief.

Lift up thy bleeding hand, O Lord,
Unseal that cleansing tide;
We have no shelter from our sin
But in thy wounded side.