Spit on, torn, bashed with hate,
Many were ready to seal his fate.
Exhausted feeling wretched pain,
They began nailing him to a cross,
Through the skin, bones, and veins.
They hung him high on that hill,
Between two thieves the cross stood still.
Excruciating torment is how the three will die,
But to assure the miracle makers death,
They thrust a sword in his side.
Every breath was slowly becoming more painful to make,
If they only knew whose life they were going to take.
Taking on the sins of the world on his shoulders,
The sky filled with the sounds of crashing boulders.
His Father had to turn away, for the sins his son took, brought the maker much dismay.
Then the broken man thrust out one last cry,
For then the Lord Jesus , he wretchedly died.
They took and placed him in a tomb,
They thought his life had been forever doomed.
Followers found the stone that blocked the tomb, rolled away,
For indeed it was on that glorious third day.
Then he came to his followers to say, I will truly come back one glorious day.
Then he ascended into the sky,
And will always be there for all, by and by