The Blood Sprinkled Road

THE BLOOD SPRINKLED ROAD He trudged down the road with the cross that He bore, His back had been bleeding, His body was sore. The Romans had whipped Him with the scourge many times, The men who had done it had not been very kind. They wounded His body, now He bore all of the load Of my sin as He walked down the blood sprinkled road. He walked down the road with the lamb he would bring, So young and so precious, an innocent thing. He came to the temple, the lamb he did slay; He sprinkled the blood there in front of his way. He offered the lamb as in prayer he abode For the sins of himself on that blood sprinkled road. There was something quite different with these two men that day As they each shed the blood, sprinkled there on the way: There was one who was sprinkling the blood just ahead From the lamb who’d been slain and which now lay there dead, But the other, whose blood made a trail there behind, Not a sin did He have, not a fault could they find. And He bore all our sins to the Father, we’re told, As the last sacrifice on the blood sprinkled road. That one in the temple needs to come back again With an offering for him and for his nation’s sin, He will sprinkle the blood as before him he goes, Pleading then that God’s mercy He will on them bestow. But the one on the cobblestone street will no more Have His body all beaten, so bloody and sore, For the blood that He sprinkled God forever will hold As my payment for sin on the blood sprinkled road.