Good Friday

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The sky grew dark, the angels wept,
Yet would not intervene,
For this was both the worst of days,
And the best the world had seen.

God’s only Son, His pride and joy,
Upon a Cross was slain,
And all His followers despaired,

Though He’d said He’d rise again.

Their hopes were dashed, their hearts forlorn,
Their lives in disarray,
It seemed to them, all hope of joy,
Had ended on that day.

Their promised King, their Lord and friend,
In whom they’d placed their trust,
Hung like a thief above them there,

His bones would soon be dust.

Triumphantly, they’d followed Him,
Just one short week before,
And loud the crowd’s ‘Hosannas’ rang,
As palm fronds hit the floor.

But mankind is a fickle breed,
As well our Saviour knew,
And though He knew the fate He’d face,
He did what He’d to do.

The last night came, and He made His plea,
As He knelt in the Garden there,
“Lord, I’d rather not, but Thy will not Mine”,
Was His painful, submitted prayer.

So when before the court they brought,
This Man who’d done no wrong,
He closed His mouth, He made no plea,
And He let things charge along.

They whipped, and scorned, and spat upon,
The One who’d made this world,

They beat Him, mocked Him, stole His clothes,
And at Him, insults hurled.

They made Him carry, on His back,
Though bleeding, ripped and raw,
The heavy Cross they’d nail Him to,
And walk those streets once more.

The streets where He’d triumphant rode,
Upon a donkey’s back,
Now rang with “Crucify our ‘king’,

For we don’t want Him back.”

The priests had won, and yet they’d lost,
They’d played in satan’s hand,
He thought that he’d destroy our Lord,
Yet it fit with God’s own plan.

For what could wash away all sin,
Bring healing and forgive?
Why, nothing but the blood of One,
Whom a sinless life did live.

He came into the world for this,
To give His life away,
His life, His Word, His teaching,
Had all been for this day.

The worst of days, the best of days,
Though none could see it then,
But for us, we know in three days time,
Our Saviour rose again.

On this the darkest day of all,
When they thought all hope had died,
We feel their pain, but we know that soon,
He would wipe the tears they cried.

He rose triumphant from the grave,
He proved it again and again,
He’s just as alive in the world today,
As He was when He showed them then.

And as we remember the day He died,
We sometimes feel solomn and sad,
We hear in our hearts, “Yes, but I am alive,
So ‘Good Friday’ should make you glad.”

 

© (2-3am) 6/4/07
(Good Friday morning)