"Father, I pray, let this cup pass from Me."
In the garden in agony He cried.

Great drops of blood, as sweat, fell down
Where Jesus knelt upon the ground.

"Take away this cup from Thine only Son . . .
And not My will, but Thine be done."

"Whomsoever I kiss, 'tis He," Judas cried
And walked boldly to the Master's side.

Then, just one look into that kindly face . . .
With a broken heart, he ran from the place,

Throwing the silver, which he was paid,
He cried, "'Tis innocent blood I have betrayed,"

"Art Thou the king the Jew's expected one?"
(The trial before Pilate had just begun.)

Pilate wished the yelling mob to chide,
"I find no fault in Him," he cried.

To the clamoring mob, bereft of reason,
"No cause for death, by guilt or treason."

"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" they cry
"He is an imposter. He must die."

His blood be on us and our children."
The cry of the mob was cruel and grim . . .

"Away with Him! Away with Him!
Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

Scourged and delivered to the angry mob,
They dressed Him in a purple robe.

"Hail Thou! Hail Thou! King of the Jews!"
They before Him jeered and bowed.

On His head a crown of thorns they placed
And led Him forth, as one disgraced.

Then, on the cross which He had borne up the hill,
They stretched His frail and sacred form,

When blow on blow, strong hands sent the nails
Into His quivering, suffering flesh;

Then cried soldiers lifting high the cross
Dropped it quickly with a thundering thud.

"Father, forgive them," in compassion He cried,
"For they know not what they do."

Nails, cruel, pierced His hands and feet,
A sharp sword pierced His body through.

"It is finished," people heard Him say,
"into Thy hands I commend My spirit today."

mantle of darkness caressed Him in death,
Covering His friends, whose hearts were bereft.

The rulers knew they were mistaken again,
As the veil in the temple was rent in twain.

earful, they fled the angry mob . . .
had they slain? The Son of God!

By loving hands brought down from the cross . . .
Brokenhearted, they keenly felt their loss;

All earth was hushed . . . not a sound was heard,
Not even a song or the chirp of a bird;

Weird was the cry His mother gave
As His body was placed in the rock-hewn grave.

"Earth holds the Nazarene within her grasp;
Trouble with Him," Pilate said, "is past.

He cannot now, as He has often said,
Rise in three days if He were dead.

Go soldiers, place a guard o'er His grave . . .
Seal fast the entrance to the cave."

At last, morning came and the cold grey dawn;
Christ's followers, heartbroken, forlorn,
Departed from the city before it wad day
Wondering who would roll the stone away.

But lo! . . . the grave is empty, their Lord is gone,
An angel is guarding the tomb at early morn.

The sun bursts forth in all its glory
Across the earth it tells the story.

"The tomb is empty, the body is gone . . .
The Christ arose in the early morn."

So, sing ye people, let your voices ring,
Sing ye people: Oh, Christ is King."