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by Raydene Nash

When Jesus looks at me, He sees his child,
His work, redeemed and cleansed and sanctified.
He hung upon the cross for me defiled,
Becoming sin, by God He was denied.
I Am recounts the price that Jesus paid,
When He arose, my sins He put aside.
His sacrifice of love sweet fragrance made,
God, hearing my confessions, does not chide.
A small check in my Spirit tells me when
I have lost sight of Jesus Christ, my prize.
Although I’d strayed in at death’s shadowed glen,
In pastures green I rest away from flies.
Me with His body and His blood he’s plied,
He’s at His table, sustenance supplied.

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