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 a cross,
My sins upon His shoulder;
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was my sin 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 reward?
I cannot give an answer,
But this I know with my heart,
His wounds have paid my ransom.
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