Dying thief who found Grace

we find out that grace, there like that dying thief, no wonder it's inspired poets

One poet said:

That dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
There may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Ever since by faith I saw that stream
Thy flowing wounds supplied,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
Grace, amazing grace... Hallelujah. One wrote it:
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How fathomless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure,
Saints and angels song.
If we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
And every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Or could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.