I Stand Ashamed

I lie ashamed before the King

In misery and endless grief

Every accusation stings

My soul; I can find no relief.

I kneel accused before the throne

But my Defender, speaking up,

Proclaims His goodness as my own

And takes my sin; He drinks my cup.

I stand as that grace takes its toll

But the accuser wants to fight

He demands to see my record whole

He claims it is his solemn right.

My Defender gives it him;

"Read at will," is what He said.

The records are in no way slim:

My heart is filled with sudden dread.

What is hidden from that book?

What unrecorded message hides?

None! Every action, every look

And thought and word besides:

All my wrongs are written there

All my sins for all to see!

It almost is too much to bear;

He opens it; he seeks to read.

The accuser stands in silence though,

His mouth is shut, his face gone white.

He slams the book with violence now,

And shouts with every form of spite.

"I would accuse," said he, "with pride

If the words could but be read;

But every single dot inside

Is covered over with blood red!"

My Defender gives a smile.

"If only you had understood.

You accuse, yet all the while

Her sins are covered with My blood.

"My sacrifice has paid her price;

You have no case, it is all done.

She is not yours, though you entice.

She is mine, and I have won."

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, 'tis now...