Looking at the cross by John Newton

In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,

Till a new object struck my sight,

And stopped my wild career.

I saw One hanging on a tree,

In agony and blood,

Who fixed His languid eyes on me,

As near His cross I stood.

Sure, never to 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.

A second look He gave, which said,

“I freely all forgive;

This blood is for thy ransom paid;

I die that thou mayst live.”

Thus, while His death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too.