All the good I did in vain,
My sins had left a crimson stain,
He had come down to save,
To change me as his own good fave.
He proved it on the cross,
His love of what it is,
When he hung and bled,
And cried and died.
He washed me white as snow,
For not tongue nor pen can show,
Nor can my memory find,
How much he loves this bad kind.