Through the roar of the mob you can still hear the sound,
Of a large wooden cross dragged along hallowed ground.

As the cross bounces along over hard rock and stone,
It shreds the back of its bearer, who lets out a moan.

But He's careful not to speak, he makes no reprimand,
For a single word from Him could form an army from the sand.

So He silently continues marching up Golgotha's Hill,
Where the salvation of mankind He has come to fulfill.

He makes the trek alone, His friends are nowhere near,
Peter is busy denying and the others fled in fear.

When the cross becomes too heavy for His mortal frame to bear,
They force a stranger from the crowd, the burden in to share.

Once they reach the place that He was destined for since birth,
They suspend the Son of God between the Heavens and the earth.

Though He belongs in a palace, with mighty walls and gates,
They decide to make His place among two thieving reprobates.

As men pass by they spit on Him, with pointing fingers they accuse,
He says, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

They challenge His authority, they want to see His powers,
But He sticks to God's great plan and suffers silently for hours.

On bended knee they mock Him, a crown of thorns they made,
Blind with rage they could not see their debt of sin was being paid.

With no remorse they drain the Savior's precious blood,
It gushes down the cross and it pools in the mud.

When His body can no more bear, the brunt of man's assaults,
He speaks to God once more, before His breathing halts.

His Father's plan was done, He had achieved His goal,
He looks up to the Heavens and He yields up His soul.

To redeem man's lost innocence, it will cost a hefty price,
The perfect blood of Jesus, given in this sacrifice.