~ On This Cross ~
As He looked down upon them,
His body broken and torn,
The pain so intense, He could barely breathe,
On His head was a crown of thorns.

As He looked down with a broken heart,
He felt the sharp sword pierce His side.
How could they hate Him and not understand,
That it is was for them He would die?

“Is there anyone who cares at all,
Who will not mock and torture Me?
I was sent here by My Father to die.
On this cross there will be Victory.”

As Pilate’s soldiers laughed with scorn,
He prayed that God would forgive.
“They know not what they do,” He said.
“My death gives them a chance to live.”

A body broken and yet still concerned,
For the men hanging next to Him,
When one said, “Please remember me, Lord”
Jesus told him He would see him again.

As the thunder rolled and the lightening cracked,
One more time, He looked down on those below.
“It is finished,” said this King who was born to die.
“Father, into Your hands I commend my soul.”

A borrowed tomb where He was laid to rest,
Three days thence, the stone rolled away.
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?” the angels sang,
Christ the Lord, is Risen today!

Jesus Christ, the King, who was born to die,
Overcame the grave to buy our liberty.
As He walked away, salvation was ours that day.
Because on that cross, He claimed the Victory.

Karen Bunker © March 12, 2008

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