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XLVII. THE SAME.

Hymn 4.

[To the fountain of Thy blood]

To the fountain of Thy blood
With trembling haste I fly;
Wash me, O my pardoning God,
From crimes of deepest dye;
Purge my every crimson stain,
And give my burden'd conscience ease,
Turn me to my rest again,
And bid me die in peace.
None of all Thy gifts below
Do I, O Lord, desire,
Grant me but Thy love to know,
And quietly expire;
From my sin's, my body's chain
This weary wretched soul release;
Turn me, &c.
If Thou canst, the whole remit
Of what I feel, and fear,
Send me up out of the pit
Of temporal despair:
All the sad arrears of pain
Discharge by Thy own righteousness;
Turn me, &c.
Let the punishment suffice
I have already borne,
Wipe the sorrow from my eyes,
And bid me now return;

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Me a wretched sinful man
Redeem from all my sinfulness:
Turn me, &c.
Weak, and coward as I am,
I dare no longer live:
Hide me from my grief, and shame,
And to Thyself receive:
Might I now the port obtain,
Might all these storms and sorrows cease!
Turn me, &c.
Plunge me in the purple tide
Of Thy atoning blood;
Take me, Lord, into Thy side,
And bring me pure to God:
If Thou hast not died in vain,
The purchase of Thy passion seize;
Turn me to my rest again,
And bid me die in peace.