The atoning work is done,
The Victim’s blood is shed;
And Jesus now is gone
His people’s cause to plead:
He stands in Heaven their great High Priest,
And bears their names upon His breast.

He sprinkles with His blood
The mercy-seat above;
For justice had withstood
The purposes of love:
But justice now objects no more,
And mercy yields her boundless store.

No temple made with hands
His place of service is;
In Heaven itself He stands,
A heavenly priesthood His:
In Him the shadows of the law
Are all fulfilled, and now withdraw.

And though awhile He be
Hid from the eyes of men,
His people look to see
Their great High Priest again:
In brightest glory He will come,
And take His waiting people home.

Great High Priest, we see Thee stooping,
With our names upon Thy breast,
In the garden groaning, drooping,
To the ground with sorrows pressed.
Weeping angels stand confounded,
To behold their Maker thus,
And shall we remain unwounded,
When we know ’twas all for us?

On the cross Thy body broken,
Cancels every penalty;
Tempted souls produce this token
All demands to satisfy.
All is finished; do not doubt it,
But believe your dying Lord;
Never reason more about it,
Only take Him at His Word.

Come, behold your Savior bleeding,
Streams of mercy from Him flow,
Whilst before His Father pleading
For those men who wrought His woe.
Lo, He cried, “Father, forgive them,
Though they do My life pursue,
I am willing to receive them,
For they know not what they do.”

Come, Thou everlasting Spirit,
Bring to every thankful mind
All the Savior’s dying merit,
All His suffering for mankind.
True recorder of His passion,
Now Thy living fire impart,
Now reveal Thy great salvation,
Preach His Gospel to our heart.

Lord, we fain would trust Thee solely;
’Twas for us Thy blood was spilt;
Gracious Savior, take us wholly,
Take and make us what Thou wilt.
Grant us now Thy heav’nly blessing,
Let Thy love our songs employ;
Then we’ll find Thy peace possessing,
In Thy service all our joy.

With joy we meditate the grace
Of our High Priest above;
His heart is made of tenderness,
His bowels melt with love.

Touched with a sympathy within,
He knows our feeble frame;
He knows what sore temptations mean,
For He has felt the same.

But spotless, innocent, and pure,
The great Redeemer stood,
While Satan’s fiery darts He bore,
And did resist to blood.

He in the days of feeble flesh
Poured out His cries and tears,
And in His measure feels afresh
What every member bears.

He’ll never quench the smoking flax,
But raise it to a flame;
The bruisèd reed He never breaks,
Nor scorns the meanest name.

Then let our humble faith address
His mercy and His power;
We shall obtain delivering grace
In the distressing hour.