The Cross

 In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,

Till a new object struck my sight,

And stopped my wild career.

I saw One hanging on a tree,

In agonies and blood;

He fixed His languid eyes on me,

As near His cross I stood.

Sure never till my latest breath,

Shall I forget that look!

It seemed to charge me with His death,

Though not a word He spoke.

A second look He gave, which said,

"I freely all forgive;

This blood is for thy ransom paid;

I die that thou mayest live."

Thus while His death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too!

—John Newton