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.
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.
How blest are they who still abide
Close shelter’d in Thy bleeding side;
Who life and strength from thence derive,
And by Thee move, and in Thee live!
What are our works but sin and death,
Till Thou Thy quick’ning Spirit breathe?
Thou giv’st the power Thy grace to move—
O wondrous grace! O boundless love!
Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o’erflow,
Our words are lost: nor will we know,
Nor will we think of aught, beside
“My Lord, my Love is crucified.”
-Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf
