Dressed in common robes of His day and sandals on His feet,
He traveled many weary miles in the desert heat.
But we despised and rejected Him though miracles He performed.
Healing a deplorable leper or restoring a leg deformed.
Acquainted with the deepest grief, a man of many sorrows.
When He died He was laid to rest in a tomb that was borrowed.
We readily denied Him, though our weaknesses He carried.
We turned out heads, looked the other way as He was being buried.
He was wounded for our transgressions.
He was beaten so we could be whole.
By those stripes we are healed, body, mind and soul.
He was oppressed and treated cruelly, yet He never said a word.
Like a lamb led to the slaughter, not a sound from Him was heard.
Regarded as a criminal, He was brutally led away.
Unjustly condemned and crucified on that dark and bloody day!
His life was made an offering for the sins of you and I.
We are counted as righteous, because His blood was then applied.
It will never be enough, whatever we say or do
To balance out the payment for all that He went through!