8,6,8,6

Looking at the cross.

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 fixed his languid eyes on me,

As near his cross I stood.

Sure, never till my latest breath,

Can 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.

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 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.

With pleasing grief and mournful joy,

My spirit now is filled;

That I should such a life destroy,

Yet live by him I killed.