Sunday Hymn: And Can It Be

And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Sav­ior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain—
For me, who Him to death pur­sued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

’Tis mys­te­ry all: th’Im­mor­tal dies:
Who can ex­plore His strange de­sign?
In vain the first­born ser­aph tries
To sound the depths of love di­vine.
’Tis mer­cy all! Let earth ad­ore,
Let an­gel minds in­quire no more.
’Tis mer­cy all! Let earth ad­ore;
Let ang­el minds in­quire no more.

He left His Fa­ther’s throne ab­ove
So free, so in­fi­nite His grace—
Emptied Him­self of all but love,
And bled for Ad­am’s help­less race:
’Tis mer­cy all, im­mense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!
’Tis mer­cy all, im­mense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!

Long my im­pris­oned spir­it lay,
Fast bound in sin and na­ture’s night;
Thine eye diff­used a quick­en­ing ray—
I woke, the dun­geon flamed with light;
My chains fell off, my heart was free,
I rose, went forth, and fol­lowed Thee.
My chains fell off, my heart was free,
I rose, went forth, and fol­lowed Thee.

Still the small in­ward voice I hear,
That whis­pers all my sins for­giv­en;
Still the aton­ing blood is near,
That quenched the wrath of hos­tile Heav­en.
I feel the life His wounds im­part;
I feel the Sav­ior in my heart.
I feel the life His wounds im­part;
I feel the Sav­ior in my heart.

No con­dem­na­tion now I dread;
Jesus, and all in Him, is mine;
Alive in Him, my liv­ing head,
And clothed in right­eous­ness di­vine,
Bold I ap­proach th’eter­nal throne,
And claim the crown, through Christ my own.
Bold I ap­proach th’eter­nal throne,
And claim the crown, through Christ my own.

—Charles Wesley