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The sound-it rang throughout the air, which raised upon my arm the hair I knew that music all too well, the death song of a funeral At his scream I dropped in prayer, my soul pervaded with despair Imaginations running wild, and nauseous I recall Pain so heavy on me piled, I could not rise at all I mustered all my strength and rose, and gazing o'er the brink exposed A scene so ghastly harrowing I could no longer hold my view My Lord assaulted by their blows, they madly stripped Him of His clothes His form so marred and smeared with blood, His face I hardly knew Watching helpless without pow'r and nothing I could do He rested there upon the wood, while dogs encompassing Him stood Crimson lifeblood streamed onto the bare and rocky sand Open wounds to requite good, He granted them do what they would And cried out as a child while rusty iron pierced His hand Such depravity of 'people' I just could not understand Lifting him up to the sky, I saw my Jesus heave and cry His diaphragm began to give out, robbing Him of air Raised above the earth so high, I could not stand to watch Him die His thorny diadem unleashing blood into his hair I turned away and wretched to see my Savior hanging there But then recalled into my mind a reminiscence once confined 'The Son of Man will be betrayed and killed but He will rise' Alas, could I have been so blind to providence in this assigned? Payment for salvation under crucifixion's guise, Christ's blood as an offering, ascending to the skies I did not know just what to feel, to weep and mourn or humbly kneel? To think the King of Kings would take the wrath of God for me By His stripes I had been healed and by His tears I had been sealed His crushed and mangled body hanging hammered to a tree To think the Lord of Lords would take the wrath of God for me © 2003 Nightsaint (J. Schmidt) |
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Copyright © 2003-2006 Goths for Jesus |
