A woman is healed by clasping at your cloak’s hem,
The life and power in your Word completely astounds them.
The man who dines with sinners assigns himself the Messiah’s task?
And true to the voice in the desert, they begin to plot till dusk
With a myriad of questions from resurrection to taxes,
They craft the Saviour’s cross with their chisels and axes.
Grievous and sorrowful, in great anguish you pray,
Awaiting the hour of betrayal, beads of bloody sweat stray…
As your flesh bleeds from the nails and a crown of thorn,
The women weep and wail, their hearts, torn.
For me you bleed, that I shall neither hunger nor thirst
Mocked, stripped and beaten, still you put me first,
Crucified by men, so one day, my Father I may meet?
Your grace overwhelms me Lord, I fall at your feet!
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