>
by Horatius Bonar
Thy works, not mine, O Christ, speak gladness to this heart;
They tell me all is done; they bid my fear depart.
To whom, save Thee, who canst alone
For sin atone, Lord, shall I flee?
Thy pains, not mine, O Christ, upon the shameful tree,
Have paid the law’s full price and purchased peace for me.
To whom, save Thee, who canst alone
For sin atone, Lord, shall I flee?
Thy cross, not mine, O Christ, has borne the awful load
Of sins that none in Heav’n or earth could bear but God.
To whom, save Thee, who canst alone
For sin atone, Lord, shall I flee?
Thy death, not mine, O Christ, has paid the ransom due;
Ten thousand deaths like mine would have been all too few.
To whom, save Thee, who canst alone
For sin atone, Lord, shall I flee?
Thy righteousness, O Christ, alone can cover me:
No righteousness avails save that which is of Thee.
To whom, save Thee, who canst alone
For sin atone, Lord, shall I flee?