We all know him,Jesus of Nazerine,
But as CHRIST that's no-know
He,like a young plant grew,grew like a root out of dry ground
He had no form of majesty that we should desire
Nothing in his appearance that we should desire,
No account of him did we hold
He,our infirmities,iniquities n diseases bore,
Yet we accounted him stricken,struck by GOD
So resolving we accused,stripped and scourged him
 Piercing his head,mocking him with thorns for a crown,marching amidst spitting,cursing,mocking and teasing yet weeping
Finally stripping and nailing him.
He sweated while renewing his covenant,holding the cup
He accepted it praying;"Father your will be done" and drank from it
His obedience made him perfect.
He left his perfect diadem above for a crown of thorns,
His love for me held him on the cross
That by ascending it drew me closer to him.
Redeeming us he ascended back to intercede for us


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