He tells me WORDS whereby I'm saved,
He points to something done,
Accomplished on Mount Calvary,
By His beloved Son;
In which no works of mine have place;
Otherwise grace were no more grace.
Believing this, how can I wait,
And ask what shall I do
To make His gift more sure to me,
His loving words more true?
Since works of mine have here no place,
Otherwise grace is no more grace.
Ah, no, it is His finished work
On which my soul relies;
And if my unbelieving heart
Its preciousness denies,
That works of mine might have a place,
Then grace with works were no more grace.
But in that He is raised on high,
Who came our sins to bear;
I know that I am seen of God,
In oneness with Him there;
Where not a spot His eye can trace,
Or aught that mars His work of grace.
Oh, wondrous words! Oh, precious work,
By which the soul is saved!
And Thou who didst it, blessed Lord,
Hast in my heart engraved
A Name which must all names displace,
With me a lost one, saved by grace.