The blood that ran from the crown of thorns
And down my Savior's face
Was pumped forth from a heart of love
That made Him take my place.
My place was on that cruel cross.
There, I deserved to die;
To suffer for the pain I'd caused;
My selfishness and pride.
Yet, should I hang eternally,
I could never pay.
That vast, infinitude of work,
He finished in one day!
No comments:
Post a Comment