Thou Art My Blest Portion Thou Dear Naza


Thou art my blest Portion, thou dear Nazarene,
Who once was oppressed,
And sorely distressed,
When thou didst lie under my Curse and my Shame,
To save me for-ever, ador’d be thy Name.

There in that deep Wound, I view in thy Side,
I see my Election,
And all my Perfection;
Beholding the Glory of thy Blood-bought Bride,
Amongst the dear Number who in thee confide.

Now I can behold thee, Love, bleeding for me!
I bow to none other,
But thee my dear Lover,
With Wonder I view thee on the bloody Tree,
And hear thee, lamb, crying ‘Tis finish’d for thee:

That Moment I prov’d the Grace of thy Name,
Where all Things I wanted
Unto me was granted;
Yea, mine is thy Fulness that’s always the same,
That still I might praise thee, thou meek slaughter’d Lamb.