At the Cross

At the Cross
Isaac Watts, pub.1707

Alas! and did my Savior bleed

And did my Sov’reign die?

Would He devote that sacred head

For such a worm as I?

At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light,

And the burden of my heart rolled away,

It was there by faith I received my sight,

And now I am happy all the day!

Thy body slain, sweet Jesus, Thine—

And bathed in its own blood—

While the firm mark of wrath divine,

His soul in anguish stood.

Was it for crimes that I had done

He groaned upon the tree?

Amazing pity! grace unknown!

And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide

And shut his glories in,

When Christ,the mighty Maker died,

For man the creature’s sin.

Thus might I hide my blushing face

While His dear cross appears,

Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,

And melt my eyes to tears.

But drops of grief can ne’er repay

The debt of love I owe:

Here, Lord, I give myself away,

’Tis all that I can do.

© Monika Hardy