What is this object of men’s scorn
Hung up that all might see,
So marred and bloody, badly torn
That hangs on yonder tree?
You said He is the Son of God
Without one spot or stain!
Then tell me how does one so good
Meet such an end of pain?
He hangs for me? My sins He took
Since I could never pay,
To blot them from God’s judgment book?
He died for me today!
He though so pure was counted sin
That I might never die,
But have His righteousness as mine –
His life to mine apply.
How can this be? What grace divine!
A sinner such as I!
He chose to give His life for mine,
For Him I’ll live and die.
Christina Joy Hommes