1 Dear dying Friend, we look on thee,
And own our foul offences here;
We built thy cross on Calvary,
And nailed and pierced thy body there.

2 Yet, let the blood our hands have spilt
Be sprinkled on each guilty heart,
To purge the conscience well from guilt,
And everlasting life impart.

3 So will we sing thy lovely name,
For grace so rich and freely given;
And tell thy love, and tell our shame,
That one we murdered gives us heaven.