Man of Sorrows


Man of sorrows, enduring Savior,

Object of God’s wrath and favor,

Anguish and joy, distinctive savor,

The paradox of the cross.

What a range of emotion you feel,

In the garden, a final appeal

As the moment itself becomes real,

Faced with the depth of loss.


When your closest friends forsake you,

And the indifferent soldiers take you

To the Romans who try to break you,

You endure for love’s sake.

Condemned to a tortuous demise,

Nailed to a cross, naked, despised,

Assaulted by accusations and lies,

Knowing this is not a mistake.


As mingled blood and water drips,

From wounds of nails and spear and whips

The hoarse whisper escapes your lips,

“Why have you forsaken me?”

The heavens are silent in reply,

We hear your mother’s grief-stricken cry,

As you give up the ghost and die,

Death itself has taken thee.


Your mourning loved ones bury you,

In a borrowed garden tomb.

Yet in three days, resurrection’s bloom

Frees you from the grave.

Your life, your death, your rising again,

Bring hope of redemption to all men,

Lifted, the weight, the curse that condemns,

You free us from the sins that enslave.

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