On Good Friday

My heart mourns for you O' Lord,
knowing what this day means.
To see Your Son on that cross,
the nails piercing His hands,
His blood flowing out of Him,
a sacrifice that had to be made.
O' Lord, I can't fathom how You felt,
the day Your Son endured the pain.

My shame covers me O' Father,
for the sins of all were shone.
Your Son, stripped and beaten,
with our defiance laid bare by savagery.
I weep for His suffering,
knowing the act had to be done.
You trade Your love for our wrongs,
how unworthy we truly are.

Thank You, Almighty God,
in Your Son's death, victory is won.
Our sins are washed clean by His blood,
for He would rise from the tomb.
Yet, on this day, I ponder
on the price that was paid.
O' Jesus, You are the Son,
may Your gift touch who comes to believe.