The Blood of Sprinkling. Heb. 12. 24; Ps. 51. 7

J. Berridge   L.M.

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.

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.

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.


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