How deep the father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure.
That He should give his only son to make a wretch a 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 pow’r, 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.
Words and Music by Stuart Townend
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