A poem by Jeannine McMullen:


A purple robe of royalty
Became a cloak of mockery
Laid upon Jesus’ shoulders
Made fun of by soldiers

Upon His head a crown of thorns
Made with cruelty and scorn
Yet He would make no sound
By His promise He was bound

To suffer shame and cruelty
Because of love for you and me
He bore all that we deserve
He did it all with no reserve

He was cruelly whipped
From Him all dignity was stripped
He took the beating meant for us
God’s own dear Son, Jesus

And when they took Him to Calvary
They brutally killed Him on a tree
It should be me who died
I’m the one who sinned and lied

He did nothing wrong
Why did He go along
With a plan where He would die
Why did He leave His throne on high

But His death is not the end of the story
He rose again and is in glory
He shed His blood so we may live
He gave His all, He came to give

He has traded the robes of mockery
For the pure robes of God’s royalty
He asks us to exchange our rags of sin
For robes of salvation and enter in


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