To whom but you

Your work, not mine, O Christ,
speaks gladness to this heart,
it tells me all is done
and bids my fear depart.

To whom but you,
who can alone
for sin atone,
to whom but you,
to whom but you,
Lord, shall I go?

Your wounds, not mine, O Christ,
can heal my damaged soul;
your stripes, not mine, contain
the balm that makes me whole.

Your cross, not mine, O Christ,
has borne the awful load
of sins that none could bear
except the incarnate God.

Your death, not mine, O Christ,
has paid the ransom due;
ten thousand deaths like mine
would have been all too few.

Your righteousness, O Christ,
alone can cover me;
no righteousness but yours
suffices for my plea.

Horatius Bonar (1808-89)