Eyes On the Cross
On the cross my Lord hangs.
From his palms, heart, and feet,
A crimson trickles down the tree.
A drop falls and soaks the earth.
A gentle flow, soon a roaring falls;
A pond, a pool, soon a river of red.
From the cross the river flows,
Washes away every stain;
Gives life along its course.
What grace can compare!
That I should swim in a river so deep,
So crimson it makes me white.
What love can I return,
But set my eyes upon the cross,
And yield my all to Him.
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