How
deep the Father's love for us;
How vast beyond all measure,
That He should give His only son
To make a wretch His treasure.
How great the pain of searing loss:
The Father turns His face away,
As wounds which mar the chosen one
Bring many sons to glory.
Behold
the man upon the cross,
My sin upon His shoulders:
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished;
His dying breath has brought me life:
I know that it is finished.
I
will not boast in anything,
No gifts, no power, no wisdom:
But I will boast in Jesus Christ,
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer,
But this I know with all my heart,
His wounds have paid my ransom.
