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1 My Saviour 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;
I 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.
—Palm Leaves, 1865, No. 33