Verse 1
Oh, bliss of the purified! bliss of the free!
I plunge in the crimson tide opened for me!
O’er sin and uncleanness exulting I stand,
And point to the print of the nails in His hand.
Refrain
O sing of His mighty love,
Sing of His mighty love,
Sing of His mighty love,
Mighty to save.
Verse 2
Oh, bliss of the purified! Jesus is mine!
No longer in dread condemnation I pine:
In conscious salvation I sing of his grace,
Who lifteth upon me the light of His face.
Verse 3
Oh, bliss of the purified! bliss of the pure!
No wound hath the soul that His blood cannot cure;
No sorrow-bowed head but may sweetly find rest,
No tears but may dry them on Jesus’ breast.
Verse 4
O Jesus, the crucified! Thee will I sing;
My blessed Redeemer, my God and my King;
My soul, filled with rapture, shall shout o’er the grave,
And triumph in death in the light of Thy grace.