Dessler

L.M.

I THIRST, Thou wounded Lamb of God,

To wash me in Thy cleansing blood,

To dwell within Thy wounds; then pain

Is sweet, and life or death is gain.

2

Take my poor heart, and let it be

Forever closed to all but Thee:

Seal Thou my breast, and let me wear

That pledge of love forever there.

3

How blest are they who still abide

Close-sheltered in Thy bleeding side;

Who life and strength from thence derive,

And by Thee move, and in Thee live.

4

What are our works but sin and death,

Till Thou Thy quickening Spirit breathe?

Thou giv’st the power Thy grace to move;

O wondrous grace, O boundless love.

5

Ah, Lord, enlarge our scanty thought

To know the wonders Thou hast wrought;

Unloose our stammering tongues to tell

Thy love immense, unsearchable.