Good Friday

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
Who fixd His languid eyes on me
As near His Cross I stood.


Sure never till my latest breath
Can I forget that look,
It seemd to charge me with His death,
Though not a word He spoke:
My conscience felt and own'd the guilt,
And plunged me in despair,
I saw my sins His Blood had spilt
And helped to nail Him there.

Alas I knew not what I did
But now my tears are vain,
Where shall my trembling soul be hid?
For I the Lord have slain

A second look He gave which said,
"I freely all forgive;
This blood is for your ransom paid,
I die that thou may live"

Thus while His death my sin displays
In all its blackest hue,
Such is the mystery of grace,
It seals my pardon too.
With pleasing grief, and mournful joy,
My spirit now if fill'd
That I should such a life destroy
Yet live by Him I kill'd

John Newton