I saw One hang­ing on a tree,
In ag­ony and blood,
Who fixed His lan­guid eyes on me,
As near His cross I stood.

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O, can it be, up­on a tree,
The Sav­ior died for me?
My soul is thrilled, my heart is filled,
To think He died for me!

Sure, ne­ver to my lat­est breath,
Can I for­get that look;
It seemed to charge me with His death,
Though not a word He spoke.

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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.

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A se­cond look He gave, which said,
I free­ly all for­give;
This blood is for thy ran­som paid;
I die that thou mayst live.

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