1 Where must a sinner fly,
That feels himself undone?
On what kind hand rely,
Eternal wrath to shun?
Can wit or reason help him out,
And bring a lasting peace about?

2 Reason no help can give,
But leaves him in distress;
Nor can he be reprieved
By works of righteousness;
The law as loud as thunder cries,
“The soul that sins against me, dies.”

3 [Should creatures all agree,
To give him settled rest,
They cannot set him free,
Nor cheer his troubled breast;
No human arm his case can reach,
Nor men, nor angels heal the breach.]

4 Salvation is of God;
Jehovah is his name;
The Saviour shed his blood;
The Lord of Life was slain;
And by his own atoning blood,
He made a precious way to God.

5 Here sinners may draw near,
With all their sin and guilt;
Nor death nor danger fear,
Since Jesus’ blood was spilt;
A door of hope is opened wide,
In Jesus’ bleeding hands and side.