On a high hill the rugged cross stands as they put to death the Son of Man, and the dry land that saw Christ’s birth now drinks in His blood as it falls to earth. He Who had no place to lay His head now finds His rest as nearly dead His blood and sweat come mingled round His one tribute, a thorny crown.
Skies lit in splendour at His birth now cast utter darkness on the earth, and the Father Who hears His only Son’s pleas with weeping and anguish cannot bear to see as His Son, His Son - His only Son, though sinless Himself, sin becomes and bears the blame of our sin alone to cleanse, redeem and atone.
He willingly suffered on that tree to pay the price for you and me and the angels standing at God’s side see mixed with His anguish His great pride in His Son, His Son - His only Son Who through His love and life’s own story many Sons added for God’s glory- knowing with Christ in them, they would become each to God, as an only Son.
© Glenys Robyn Hicks 1990
"And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit: and having said thus, he gave up the ghost". Luke 23:46