Nothing, either great or small,
Nothing, sinner, no;
Jesus did it, did it all,
Long, long ago.
"It is finished!" Yes, indeed,
Finished every jot.
Sinner, this is all you need;
Tell me, is it not?
When He, from His lofty throne,
Stooped to do and die,
Everything was fully done:
Hearken to His cry—
Weary, working, burdened one,
Wherefore toil you so?
Cease your doing; all was done
Long, long ago.
Till to Jesus' work you cling,
By a simple faith,
"Doing" is a deadly thing—
"Doing" ends in death.
Cast your deadly "doing" down,
Down at Jesus' feet;
Stand "in Him," "in Him" alone,
Gloriously complete.