Stretch out Your wounded hand, O Lord,
Sprinkle upon me the blood of Your cross, my Savior.
The cross alone is precious to me (2),
It is the destination of my life,
So beautiful and glorious.

Like a tender plant growing in dry ground,
You grew up in humility.
With no beauty, no outward splendor,
You became nothing, for my sake.

You became a form despised by all,
Rejected by men, for my sake.
Our sicknesses and our sorrows,
Surely, You bore them all.

By the wounds You received,
Healing has come to me.
The blood You shed
Has become the very lifeline for us all.