Oh, my blood stained hands!
If only I would remember them,
Before I indulge in sin.
If only the sound of the whiplash,
Would resound in my ears,
Before I tiptoed the line between right and wrong.
I can not rid myself of this debt,
And it was my sin,
That put Him there for sure.
The perfect lamb,
The Holy One,
Bleed to death, on my behalf.
I could never imagine,
The volume of pain you had to bear,
Every nerve ending crying out in agony,
Agony, that was mine to bear.
If sin should ever knock at your door,
Remember, My soul,
The blood of Christ that was spilled for you,
Was the most precious of all.
For you know that your lives were ransomed once and for all from the empty and futile way of life handed down from generation to generation. It was not a ransom payment of silver and gold, which eventually perishes, but the precious blood of Christ—who like a spotless, unblemished lamb was sacrificed for us .
1 Peter 1:18-19 TPT