Behold the Lamb! 'tis He who bore
My sins upon the tree,
And paid in death the dreadful score—
The guilt that lay or me.
I'd look to Him till sight endear
The Savior to my heart;
To Him I look who calms my fear,
Nor from Himself would part.
Gold could not give the heart relief
The malefactor craved.
Ah, no! 'twas Christ, the Christ of God,
That dying sinner saved;
Faith's view of Him who bleeding hung
A victim by his side,
He saw, he knew the Lord was there,
The Lord for him had died.
I'd look until His precious love
My ev'ry thought control;
Its vast constraining influence prove
O'er body, spirit, soul.
To Him I look, while still I run—
My never-failing Friend!
Finish He will the work begun,
And grace in glory end.