Once Crucified

I feel the weight of Your crown
Pressing down, pressing down
It isn't made of solid gold
It is no treasure to behold
It's made of thorns, yes wicked thorns
Braided thick with hate and scorn

I feel the nails piercing in
Breaking skin, breaking skin
I see Your blood run deep and red
From both Your hands and sacred head
I hear them yelling "Crucify!"
I stand and watch it while You die

I see the darkness deep as night
I feel such fright, such chilling fright
To hear You cry as the Father turns
Away His eye as sin He spurns
To see them take You to the grave
How, O God, will this death save?

Then finally, three days have passed
Joy at last, great joy at last
When I hear that angel speak
When I lie prostrate at Your feet
I touch Your hands, Your head, Your side
My Risen Jesus, once crucified

"He was pierced through for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The punishment for our peace fell upon Him,
And by His scourging, we are healed"
--Isaiah 53:5