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Red was the blood that flowed down His side,

Black and blue were the bruises on Him applied,

But there was far more to this act of love,

To be revealed by our Father above.

 

Many were the tears that from His eyes were shed,

And crimson with the drops of blood from His head,

Yet His sorrow and suffering was not in vain,

There was the ultimate prize that He would attain.

 

They scourged and mocked Him and led Him to die,

“Crucify Him, crucify Him” was their cry,

Yet the Father had prepared the highest throne,

When He rose from the dead this was His own.

 

White was the glory streaming from His face,

As the risen Jesus ascended to His place,

Authority and power is now under His rule,

The purpose of  His suffering has come into view.

 

We are the reason He bore all that pain,

A recreated life is what we can attain,

A new creation made in the image of love,

In form and in fashion as His Majesty above.

 

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