1 My God, my God, to thee I cry;
Thee only would I know:
Thy purifying blood apply,
And wash me white as snow.
Touch me, and make the leper clean;
Purge mine iniquity:
Unless thou wash my soul from sin,
I have no part in thee.

2 But art thou not already mine?
Answer, if mine thou art;
Whisper within, thou Love divine,
And cheer my drooping heart.
Behold for me the Victim bleeds,
His wounds are open wide;
For me the blood of sprinkling pleads,
And speaks me justified.