A wretched rebel wrapped in righteousness,
I shiver looking on my Lord, who wears
His blood and my own filthy rags for dress––
a transfer to be favored, though unfair.
For God is just, thus He must punish me.
But there He hangs, with sinners crucified
on either side. By grace I am released,
no more in debt to law, but justified.
He paid the price in full; the words He died
to gasp proclaim it done. How strange, to sing
them now in joy, dressed as a radiant bride
who blameless stands before her husband-king.
He is my righteousness. No more shall sin
attire me. I shall robe myself in Him.