I boast not of works or tell of good deeds
For naught have I done to merit his grace
All glory and praise shall rest upon him
So willing to die in my place

I will glory in the cross
In the cross
Lest his suffering all be in vain
I will weep no more for the cross that he bore
I will glory in the cross

My trophies and crowns, my robe stained with sin
Twas all that I had to lay at his feet
Unworthy to eat from the table of life
Till love made provision for me