Oh, Who Is This That Cometh
From Edom’s Crimson Plain,
With Wounded Side, With Garments Dyed ?
Oh, Tell Me Now Thy Name,
I That Saw Thy Soul’s Distress,
A Ransom Gave;
I That Speak In Righteousness,
Mighty To Save !

Mighty To Save !
Mighty To Save !
Lord, I’ll Trust Thy Wondrous Love,
Mighty To Save !

Oh, Why Is Thine Apparel
So Very Deeply Dyed ?
Like Them That Tread The Wine-Press Red ?
Oh, Why This Crimson Tide ?
I The Wine-Press Trod Alone,
‘Neath Darkening Skies;
Of The People There Was None
Mighty To Save!

O Bleeding Lamb, My Saviour,
How Couldst Thou Bear This Shame?
With Mercy Fraught, Thine Arm Hath
Brought
Salvation In Thy Name !
I The Victory Have Won,
Conquered The Grave:
Now The Year Of Joy Has Come
Mighty To Save!