With his stripes we are healed, Isaiah 53:5.
O mighty Saviour, preserve me, the weakest of all thy members, in the invincible fortress of thy wounds, till I am perfectly whole and fitted to live with thee eternally. It shall be ever my favourite song; I am Christ and his wounds. I am nothing; he is my all. In myself I am unclean, yea, abominably filthy; but in him, all is covered and made acceptable and lovely like himself. Therefore his cross is my only glory and resting place.
Here at thy cross, my dying God,
1 lay my soul beneath thy love,
Beneath the droppings of thy blood,
Jesus, nor shall it ever remove.
Should worlds conspire to drive me hence,
Moveless and firm this heart should lie;
Resolved, (for that’s my last defence)
If I must perish, there to die.
But speak, my Lord, and calm my fear,
Am I not safe beneath thy shade?
Thy vengeance will not strike me here.
Nor Satan dares my soul invade.
Yes, I’m secure beneath thy blood,
And all my foes should loose their aim:
Hosannah to my dying God,
And my best honours to his name.