Christine Kuruvilla

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King with a Thorn Crown

Oh!Woe the day,
The day history stained its page red,
With the blood of an innocent lamb,
Who took with him the sins of his children.

Judas he betrayed his master,
Who shared with him his own body and blood,
For a bag of silver,
And befell that night an unending disaster.

“Are you the son of God?”
The Sanhedrin cried.
To which Jesus testified,
“You say that I am...”

Blasphemy, blasphemy, blasphemy,
“Let's take this man to Pilate.”
Stood before the Roman, a simple man
On whose head loomed catastrophe.

Pilate lead the case to Herod, King of Galilee,
Who receives no answer from the virgin’s son,
Sent back he with no guilt found.
So Pilate had him stripped and whipped.

And yet it quenched not their thirst for blood,
“Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!”
And on his head was placed a crown of thorns,
As the sun that hung overhead went dim.

He wept as they stripped his master naked,
Making him carry his own cross,
Up to Golgotha where they hung him on nails,
With the words “King of Jews” written across.

And even then the lamb prayed,
“Father, forgive them for they know,
not know what they do”
As his robes, they gambled and divided.

And on his sides hung two criminals,
One who mocked, asking for a miracle,
The other who repented
And was promised heaven.

And then at three,
The earth quaked, tombs opened
And the temple curtain tore,
It was the end of the suffering Jesus bore.

For that day on the tree hung,
The one onto whom angels sung,
“Praise be to the King of Heaven and Earth,
Blessed holy onto the world through virgin birth.”
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