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| Anonymous | The Sodalist’s Hymnal, Philadelphia, E.F. MacGonigle, 1887 P. 30 |
|---|---|
| 1) What are those wounds so deep, so red, From which, dear Lord, Thy Blood was shed, In priceless streams and sweet? And who could do so base a sin, As make those cruel gashes in Thy hands and side and feet? |
4) When bitter mem’ries of the past, Their chilling shadows o’er me cast, And hope gives way to fears, Thy wounded Feet I’ll clasp and kiss, And there, like Mary, taste the bliss Of penitential tears. |
| 2) They are the pledges of Thy love, Which spent itself in death to prove How dear we are to Thee; They are the tokens of our guilt— Those wounds we made, Thy Blood we spilt, And nailed Thee to the tree. |
5) When lightnings flash and thunders roll, And terror strikes my inmost soul At heaven’s angry form, I’ll fly, O Jesus, to Thy Side, And seek within Its wound so wide, A shelter from the storm. |
| 3) Though sad bereavements tear my heart, Though sin and sorrow leave their smart, And keen remorse I feel, I’ll touch, dear Lord, Thy bleeding Palm, Thy holy Hands distill a balm, My deepest wounds to heal. |
Amen. |
