I saw one hanging on a tree,
in agony and blood;
He fixed his languid eyes on me,
As near his cross, I stood.
Oh, 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, till my latest breath,
Can I forget that look:
it seemed to charge me with his death
Though not a word he spoke.
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.
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.
A second look he gave, which said,
“I freely all forgive:
This blood is for thy ransomed paid,
I die that thou may’st live.”