The Son
Wounded was he,
But not broken.
Bruised was he,
But not crushed.
Stripes were his
Their pain to bear.
Thirst he knew
But who would care
Yet some who
stood beholding him
Said this is the
Son of God!
Shamed was he,
but not alone.
Two shared
the bitter gall.
One cried out
Remember me.
He gave his head a nod.
Just as the soldier's heart
Had said, this is the Son of God!
