CHORALE –8.7.8.7.D.
1. Great high Priest, we see Thee stooping,
With our names upon Thy breast;
In the garden groaning, drooping,
To the ground with horrors prest:
Wondering angels stood confounded,
To behold their Maker thus;
And can we remain unwounded,
When we know ’twas all for us?
2 Nothing but Thy blood, O Jesus,
Can our wayward souls convert;
Nothing else from guilt release us.
Nothing else can melt the heart:
Law and terrors do but harden,
All the while they work alone:
But the sense of blood bought
pardon
Can dissolve a heart of stone.
3 Jesus, all our consolations
Flow from Thee, the sovereign
good;
Love, and faith, and hope, and
patience
All are purchased by Thy blood:
From Thy fullness we receive them;
We have nothing of our own:
Freely Thou delight’st to give them
To the needy who have none
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