The Look

I saw one hanging on a tree
In agony and blood
Who fixed His loving eyes on me
As near His cross I stood,
And never till my dying breath
Will 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,
But with a second look He said,
"I freely all forgive;
This blood is for your ransom paid
I died that you might live."

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
For all the world to view,
Such is the mystery of grace
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 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.