Não Há Amor Maior (part. Joyce Carnassale, Tatiana Costa e Marcel Freire)

Beauty was not seen in His face
His people despised Him
There was nothing in Him that pleased
His people rejected Him

Man of sorrows, more than anyone
Knew what it is to suffer
He was humiliated
Even in great pain, He did not complain

He suffered for my sins
He died for my faults
And despite the eternal wounds in His hands
He forgot my transgressions

There is no greater love than this
To give His own life for those who rejected Him
There is no greater love than this
For my fault in one who never sinned

I did not deserve so much love
But by His love, His pain healed me
The blood that poured from His wounds transformed me
Saved me

He suffered for my sins
He died for my faults
And despite the eternal wounds in His hands
He forgot my transgressions

There is no greater love than this
To give His own life for those who rejected Him
There is no greater love than this
For my fault in one who never sinned
I did not deserve so much love
But by His love, His pain healed me
The blood that poured from His wounds transformed me
Saved me

The blood that poured from His wounds
Transformed me
Saved me
Saved