It’s not by my life that I am free,
Not my work the Father sees,
Not with doings these hands have done,
Not with penance my future won.
Not my working though sincere,
Not my earnest falling tear,
None of these my eternity sealed,
Not by these that I am healed.
It is the meek man of Galilee
The Father sees instead of me.
It was His work, His trial, His death
On which the Father’s justice rests.
It was those hands wrought perfect work.
It was that voice – the temple shook.
It was in those three dark hours
The Savior broke sin’s awful power.
To claim part in His great deed
Is to claim to be God indeed.
It’s all by Him, you see,
It’s not by my life that I am free.