Lo, how the savage crew Of our proud sins hath rent The Heart of our all-gracious God, That Heart so innocent. The soldier's quivering lance Our guilt it was that drave, Our wicked deeds that to its point Such cruel sharpness gave. O wounded Heart, whence sprang The Church, the Saviour's bride; Thou Door of our Salvation's Ark Set in its mystic side. Thou holy fount, whence flows The sacred sevenfold flood, Where we our filthy robes may cleanse In the Lamb's saving Blood: By sorrowful relapse, Thee will we rend no more; But like the flames, those types of love, Strive heavenward to soar. Father and Son supreme And Spirit, hear our cry; Whose is the kingdom, praise and power, Through all eternity.