Alas, and did my Savior bleed?
And did my Sov’reign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
for such a worm as I?
Was it for crimes that I have done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity, grace unknown,
and love beyond degree!
Well might the sun in darkness hide
and shut his glories in,
when Christ, the mighty Maker died
for man the creature’s sin.
Thus might I hide my blushing face
while His dear cross appears,
dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
and melt mine eyes to tears.
But drops of grief can ne’er repay
the debt of love I owe;
here, Lord, I give myself away;
’tis all that I can do.
—Isaac Watts, 1707