| The Mystery of Grace —John Newton | |
| The Mystery of Grace 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. My conscience felt and owned the guilt And plunged me in despair; I saw my sins His blood had spilt And helped to nail Him there. A second look He gave, which said, "I freely all forgive; This blood is for thy ransom paid; I die that thou may'st 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 | |
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