No gifts, no power, no wisdom
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished.
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom.
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