When on my Beloved I gaze,
So dazzling His beauties appear,
His charms so transcendently blaze,
The sight is too melting to bear.
When from my own vileness I turn,
To Jesus exposed on the tree,
With shame and with wonder I burn,
To think what He suffered for me.
My sins, how black they appear,
When in that dear bosom they meet!
My sins were the nails and the spear
That wounded His hands and His feet.
Twas justice that wreathed for His head,
The thorns that encircled it round;
Your temples, Immanuel bled,
That mine might with glory be crowned.
The wonderful love of His heart,
Where He has recorded my name,
On earth can be known but in part;
Heaven only can bear the full flame.
In rivers of sorrow it flowed,
And flowed in those rivers for me,
My sins are all drowned in His blood;
My soul is both happy and free!
[Joseph Swain]
Isaiah 53:5 ... But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
✫❤•°*”˜˜”*°•❤✫...•°*”˜˜”*°•.❤✫...•°*”˜˜”*°•.❤✫
