I saw one hanging on a tree,
in agony and blood.
He fixed his feeble eyes on me,
as near his cross I stood.
No, never, till my dying breath
will 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 spilled,
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;
My blood is for your ransom paid;
I die that you may live.”
With grateful grief and mournful joy
my spirit now is filled,
that I should such a life destroy,
yet live by him I killed.