Sweat drops like blood upon His brow
As Christ knelt in Gethsemane;
Then shackles on His wrists
As He, betrayed, was led away.

The brutal lashes on His body
Turned into welts and bled.
They spat upon His face
As all His loved ones fled.

The crown of thorns forced on His head
Declared Him the King of Jews.
The cross He carried on His aching back
Heaped on Him scorn, and more abuse.

The pounding of the nails
through hands and feet

Echoed throughout eternity.
The sword thrust in His side revealed
That He had died for you and me.

His heart bore our transgressions; our iniquity.
His life-blood soaked the fertile ground.
Yet through His death upon the cruel cross,
Salvation, Freedom, Life is found!

He paid the price that you and I go free.
The only perfect sacrificial Lamb,
Has opened up the way unto the Father;
Now I can come to Him just as I am.

Karin Ristau

1 comment:

Betsy from Tennessee said...

Beautiful poem, Karin..

And today on Easter Sunday, he LIVES---so that I might have eternal life. Alleluia!!!

Happy Easter Karin!