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1. My Savior hanging on the tree,
In agonies and blood,
Methought once turn'd his eyes on me,
As near his cross I stood.
2. Sure, never till my latest breath
Can I forget that look;
It seem'd to charge me with his death,
Though not a word he spoke.
3. My conscience felt and own'd the guilt,
And plung'd me in despair;
1 saw my sins his blood had spilt,
And help'd to nail him there.
4. 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.
5. 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."
6. Thus, while his death my sin displays
In all its blackest hue,
(Such is the mystery of grace,)
It seals my pardon too.