1 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.
2 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.
3 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.