1 I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood,
To dwell within thy wounds; then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gain.

2 Take my poor heart and let it be
For ever closed to all but thee;
Seal thou my breast, and let me wear
That pledge of love for ever there.

3 How blest are they who still abide
Close sheltered in thy bleeding side,
Who life and strength do thence derive,
And for thee fight, and in thee live.

4 O conquering Jesus, Saviour thou,
To thee, lo! all our souls we bow;
To thee our hearts and hands we give;
Thine we will die, thine we will live.