As He hung on that tree,
Writhing in pain and agony,
With a crown of thorns upon His head,
There He hung, and there He bled.
Like a lamb to the slaughter,
Forced to drink vinegar, not water,
With those nails through His hands and feet,
Piercing through His tender meat.
Then the darkness fell round about,
And He gave a mighty shout,
Crying out to His Father on high,
For He knew His death was nigh.
Then He died like the prophecy had spoken,
Without one bone being broken,
But with a hole in His side,
Cut by a sword deep and wide.
As the temple curtain tore in two,
Every Roman and every Jew,
Knew this man was the Son of God,
The only Son of God.
He died on that cross for you and me,
He died so that man could be free,
You may not think that this is true,
But He really did die for you.
© Copy(it)right 1992