When wounded sore, the stricken soul
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When wounded sore, the stricken soulLies bleeding and unbound,One only hand—a piercèd hand—Can heal the sinner's wound.
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When sorrow swells the laden breast,And tears of anguish flow,One only heart—a broken heart—Can feel the sinner's woe.
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When penitence has wept in vainOver some foul, dark spot,One only stream—a stream of blood—Can wash away the blot.
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'T is Jesus' blood that washes white,His hand that brings relief;His heart that's touched with all our joys,And feels for all our grief.
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Lift up thy bleeding hand, O Lord!Unseal that cleansing tide:We have no shelter from our sinBut in thy wounded side.