Here at the cross I see my Savior suffer.
His wounds cry out protesting "It's not fair!"
This one who preached of mercy, love and justice
is victimized by those who do not care.
Without due cause a gentle man is dying.
I watch Him wince in agonizing terror.
Here at the cross I hear a muffled whisper.
My Savior thirsts for more than sour wine.
I tune my ears to listen to his pleadings.
What he desires is that for which he's pined.
A world of peace in which all wars have ended.
A realm of love that reaches beyond time.
Here at the cross I smell death's scent around me.
My Savior's life is ebbing fast away.
He gasps for air and shivers in the shadows.
But all the same he turns and looks my way.
This Rose of Sharon, crushed and cruelly trampled,
emits a fragrance that will win the day.
Here at the cross I touch his feet now bleeding.
My Savior's head is crowned with hatred's thorns.
His nail-spiked hands reach out in love surrendered.
My grieving heart in heaviness but mourns.
This dreadful scene engages all my senses.
The Lamb of God, hung out to die, is shorn.
Here at the cross I taste my pride (once swallowed).
My Savior's death confronts my need for grace.
I stand before this blameless man convicted.
I am amazed that he would take my place.
In Christ alone, I claim redemption offered.
Here at the cross, I glimpse my Savior's face.