1 THE veil is rent: our souls draw near
Unto the throne of grace;
The merits of the Lord appear,
They fill the holy place.
2 His precious blood avails us there
As we approach the throne;
And His own wounds in heaven declare
The atoning work is done.
3 'Tis finished: here our souls have rest,
His work can never fail;
By Him, our Sacrifice and Priest,
We pass within the veil.
4 Within the holiest of all,
Cleansed by His precious blood,
Before the throne we prostrate fall,
And worship Thee, O God.
5 Boldly the heart and voice we raise,
His blood, His name, our plea;
Assured our prayers and songs of praise
Ascend, by Christ, to Thee.