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.Oh, bliss of the purified! Jesus is mine,No longer in dread condemnation I pine;In conscious salvation I sing of His grace,Who lifted upon me the light of His face.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.O Jesus the Crucified! Thee will I sing,My blessèd Redeemer, my God and my King;My soul, filled with rapture, shall shout o’er the grave,And triumph in death in the “Mighty to Save.”- Francis Bottome, 1869
_________________Paul Frederick West
Oh, bliss of the purified! Jesus is mine,[b]No longer in dread condemnation I pine[/b];
_________________SI Moderator - Greg Gordon
PaulWest wrote: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 tearsbut may dry them on Jesus breast.
This is a blessed poem
