Not all the blood of beasts
On Jewish altars slain
Could give the guilty conscience peace
Or wash away the stain.

But Christ, the heav’nly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.

My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine,
While, like a penitent, I stand,
And there confess my sin.

My soul looks back to see
The burdens Thou didst bear
When hanging on the cursèd tree,
And hopes her guilt was there.

Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,
And sing His bleeding love.

O Thou whose offering on the tree
The legal offerings all foreshowed,
Borrowed their whole effect from Thee,
And drew their virtue from Thy blood.

The blood of goats and bullocks slain,
Could never for one sin atone;
To purge the guilty offerer’s stain,
Thine was the work, and Thine alone.

Vain in themselves their duties were,
Their services could never please,
Till joined with Thine, and made to share
The merits of Thy righteousness.

Forward they cast a faithful look
On Thy approaching sacrifice;
And thence their pleasing savor took,
And rose accepted in the skies.

These feeble types and shadows old,
Are all in Thee, the Truth, fulfilled;
We in Thy sacrifice behold
The substance of those rites revealed.

Thy meritorious sufferings past,
We see by faith to us brought back;
And, on Thy grand oblation cast,
Its saving benefits partake.