The Blood Has Always Precious Been,
‘Tis Precious Now To Me;
Through It Alone My Soul Has Rest,
From Fear And Doubt Set Free.
Oh, Wondrous Is The Crimson Tide
Which From My Savior Flowed,
And Still In Heaven My Song Shall Be,
The Precious, Precious, Blood.
“I Will Remember Now No More,”
God’s Faithful Word Has Said,
“The Follies And The Sins Of Him
For Whom My Son Has Bled.”
Not All My Well-Remembered Sins
Can Startle Or Dismay;
The Precious Blood Atones For All
And Bears My Guilt Away.
Perhaps This Feeble Frame Of Mine
Will Soon In Sickness Lie,
But Resting On The Precious Blood
How Peacefully I’ll Die.
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