| I saw one hanging on a tree
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| In agony and blood
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| Who fixed His loving eyes on me
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| As near His cross I stood
|
| And never till my dying breath
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| Will I forget that look
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| It seemed to charge me with His death
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| Though not a word He spoke
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| My conscience felt and owned the guilt
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| And plunged me in despair
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| I saw my sins His blood had spilt
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| And helped to nail Him there
|
| But with a second look He said
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| «I freely all forgive
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| This blood is for your ransom paid
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| I died that you might live»
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| Forever etched upon my mind
|
| Is the look of Him who died
|
| The Lamb I crucified
|
| And now my life will sing the praise
|
| Of pure atoning grace
|
| That looked on me and gladly took my place
|
| Thus while His death my sin displays
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| For all the world to view
|
| Such is the mystery of grace
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| It seals my pardon too
|
| With pleasing grief and mournful joy
|
| My spirit now is filled
|
| That I should such a life destroy
|
| Yet live by Him I killed
|
| Forever etched upon my mind
|
| Is the look of Him who died
|
| The Lamb I crucified
|
| And now my life will sing the praise
|
| Of pure atoning grace
|
| That looked on me and gladly took my place
|
| Forever etched upon my mind
|
| Is the look of Him who died
|
| The Lamb I crucified
|
| And now my life will sing the praise
|
| Of pure atoning grace
|
| That looked on me and gladly took my place |