I have no true impression of what
you did for me -
Of just how much you suffered so I could be set free
From sin's eternal damage of never knowing you.
I bless you, Lord, and praise you for requiting my due.
The Greeks called that place The
Skull where you were lifted up.
The Romans called it Calvary where you did drink that cup.
The Jews called it Golgotha - the meaning is the same.
I'm sorry that you suffered but know that's why you came.
When you were suff'ring lashings
and those fierce, cruel blows -
As you looked down at scoffers, there betting on your clothes
Was it my hand that dealt them? Did you already know?
Did you see in one's face there, my own face long ago?
That crook they lashed up near you
upon that windy hill,
Casting sarcastic curses with voice that was so shrill -
Was that effusive windbag
me challenging the Christ?
I cannot estimate how my life was so high-priced.
Lord Jesus, I am sorry for what
I did to you.
But Jesus, I am happy that you would see it through
Because you saw in this life the soul that you would free.
Thank you, Lord Jesus. Thank you for saving me from me.