Passion

I am broken in my spirit, As I stand by helplessly, A witness to your suffering, Unable to set you free. Your blood has drenched the granite floor; Your tormenters laugh with glee. And in my shame, I understand… You are doing this for me. Lord, I'm not worth enduring this, It is more than I can bear. At your command, I'll draw my sword; I will fight for you...I swear! Yet silently you persevere, Through the torture and the pain. They tear your flesh and spill your blood, Your mistreatment is profane. The scourging lasts throughout the day, And though you can hardly stand, These men are not yet satisfied, It's your life they now demand. With your cross upon your shoulders, You are marched toward your death. Through tear filled eyes, I cannot see, And can scarcely catch my breath. As nails are driven through your hands, Your blood splatters on my robe. And I can't recall another, Who has suffered so...since Job. You must be in such agony, I can’t imagine your pain. Yet throughout that gruesome torture, Never once did you complain. And now you hang upon that cross, On display for all to see. There are no words for how I feel, For what you've gone through for me. The sacrifice that you have made, The forgiveness you impart; I won't take these gifts for granted, They are always in my heart. Though I do not feel deserving, Of the blessings you bestow! Salvation was not mine to earn, Your passion has made it so!