Blistered feet, bloodied alone.
Walked the streets a man unknown.
Battered face as He adorns.
A mocker's robe, a crown of thorns.
A tree designed for His demise.
Cursed, maligned by guilty cries.
The nails and hammer they did meet.
Two in the hands, one in the feet.
Risen up, put on display.
For a guilty mob to scream and say,
"Crucify! Crucify!"
The people yelled to crucify.
"He must die! He must die!"
Without a fight He did comply.
I do not know the pain you felt.
Or lowly service as You knelt.
Down before such lowly men, You served (and washed their feet).
Who is this man they sent to die?
Many still could not reply.
Betrayed and sold by His very own (with a kiss).
He met the needs of thousands fed.
Healed the sick and raised the dead.
"My God! My God!" the man did say
"Have you forsaken me this day?"
Bleeding, dying, words were few.
"Forgive them Lord for what they do."
Gasping breath they heard Him say,
"It is finished!"
Lord below the ground You knew it couldn't hold You.
They thought that You were bound by nature's laws.
He is risen! He is risen!
For the veil that was torn in two and the darkness they would ensue.
A symbol alas that the debt was finally paid.
When the stone it was rolled away,
He was no longer where He lay.
Surely our king had risen from the dead.
On and on and on we're singing.
Singing out for all to hear us.
This is not a simple story.
Our lives are for Your glory.
Beyond my words and written pages.
Your song across the ages.
