When we think of the cost
Which was paid for the cross
On which our Saviour loosely hung
And blood oozing from his lung
We cannot in any way compare
The gift of the God who would spare
The wrath of the stiff – necked sinner
And pay with the blood of his Messiah
If we, being so heavy in the head
Could give our children bread for bread
Or ever if they want some fish
We give them whatever they wish
How much more would our Father on high
Not give his only son to draw sinners nigh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem