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.