The Crown

Delivered by Pilate to be scourged while the treacherous one went free
The Messiah meekly bore His lot- humiliation, pain and agony.
The cracking whip across His back, His flesh was torn apart
Beaten by those He died to save, bruised body and broken heart.
A purple robe draped o'er Him, a rod placed in His hand.
The true King, the Son of God, made to seem less than a man.
Mocking soldiers bent their knees and smote Him with the reed
They knew not who stood before them- the King of David's seed.
The crown of thorns placed on His head, they spit upon His face
This chilling price He chose to pay to save the human race.
He wore that crown of grief, held in place by perfect love
So I can wear a crown of glory in His royal courts above.