It is finished, John 19:30.
O Lord, suffer me never to be lulled into a false rest, till all be finished. But grant that by true faith I may always take up my abode and resting place in wounds, and most perfect work on the cross; since I want nothing more than always to know myself justified in thee. In thee I am perfect already
I’ll sing my Saviour’s wondrous death;
He conquered when he fell:
’Tis finished, said his dying breath,
And shook the gates of hell.
’Tis finished, our Emanuel cries,
The dreadful work is done:
Hence shall his sovereign throne arise,
His kingdom is begun.
Twas for my sins, my dearest Lord
Hung on the cursed tree.
And groaned away a dying life
For thee, my soul, for thee.
His cross a sure foundation laid
For glory and renown,
When through the regions of the dead
He passed, to reach the crown.