In the shadow of the cross, I stand,
A sinner wrapped in tattered rags of pride,
The world’s allure still clinging to my hands,
Yet here, You call me—arms stretched open wide.

I see the nails, the thorns, the crimson flow,
Each drop a message: Beloved, you are Mine.
What love is this, that stoops so low,
To bear my curse, to bridge the holy line?

Unworthy, yet You see what I could be,
Through scars and shame, You claimed my restless soul.
Your mercy’s depth, an endless, boundless sea,
Your grace alone could make the broken whole.

How can my heart not tremble, not bow low,
Before the weight of love I can’t repay?
O Lord, my thankfulness forever grows,
Each breath, a prayer, each step, a hymn to say:

For every wound You bore in place of me,
For love that held You fast upon that tree,
For grace that bids my chains to fall away,
I live to thank You, Savior, every day.