How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away.
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory.Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders.
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished;
His dying breath has brought me life;
I know that it is finished.I will not boast in anything:
No gifts, no power, no wisdom.
But I will boast in Jesus Christ:
His death and resurrection.Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer.
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom.
—Stuart Townend, 1963–
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