On the day between Good Friday and Easter, it would do our souls well to sit in front of the silent tomb and confront our sin that swirled in the bottom of the cup that Jesus drank.

I saw One hanging on a tree,

In agony and blood;

He fixed His loving eyes on me,

As near His cross I stood.

Sure, never to my latest breath,

Can I forget that look;

It seemed to charge me with His death,

Though not a word He spoke.

My conscience felt and owned the guilt,

And plunged me in despair:

I saw my sins His blood had spilt

And helped to nail Him there.

A second look He gave, which said,

"I freely all forgive:

This blood is for your ransom paid,

I die that you may live."

Chorus

O, can it be, upon a tree

The Savior died for me?

My soul is thrilled, my heart is filled,

To think He died for me!