Oh, that to-day they might fall,
Now as to God we're confessing,
Now as on Jesus we call!
D.W. Whittle.
348 Oh, Sing of His Mighty Love. 11s.
(706) The Mighty Love.
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.