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

When sorrow swells the laden breast,
And tears of anguish flow,
One only heart, a broken heart,
Can fell 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.

It is Thy bleeding hand, O Lord,
Unseals that cleansing tide;
We have no shelter from our sin,
But in thy wounded side.