Precious blood, so innocent, shed,
Crown of thorns forced upon His head,
Nails piercing, hands full of love,
His Father watching in pain from above.
Though love cannot stand,
The heinous scene,
By divine restraint,
He does not intervene.
Holy eyes behold,
More than heart can bear,
Holy ears hear,
The son’s cry of despair.
Such a cruel ordeal,
Does the old dragon dare
To flaunt his work,
And appear from his lair?
Yes in pride he appears,
And mocks through the crowd,
His spirit haughty,
Malicious and loud.
Sinless Man of Sorrows,
Well acquainted with grief,
Taunted by rulers,
And mocked by a thief.
His words are few,
His sacrifice great,
Seeking the lost,
In a world full of hate.
Victory cry, loud and clear,
The end has come, death is near,
Triumphant and confident, silence is broken,
Words of power, “It is finished!” are spoken.
His mission completed,
The journey is through,
But the story lives on,
It is faithful and true.
A Christian poem by: Mark Tinjum — February 2006