With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow.
Helpless and foul as the trampled snow,
Sinner, despair not! Christ stoopeth low
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin,
And raise it to life and enjoyment again.
Groaning—Bleeding—Dying for thee.
The Crucified hung on the accursed tree.
His accents of mercy fell soft on thine ear—
“Is there mercy for me? Will He heed my prayer?”
O God, in the stream that for sinners doth flow,