The crimson fluid drops,
Pumped from his wounded heart.
From His side, palms, and feet,
The blood crawls on the cross,
And clears the scars of sin;
And frees the heart from guilt.
On the cross, his arms open wide,
Inviting me for a warm hug.
But the face is marred, badly bruised;
His body sweats blood and water.
His hands ache, hanging from the...
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