Author: Christopher Idle
In silent pain the eternal son
hangs derelict and still;
in darkened day his work is done,
fulfilled, his Father’s will.
Uplifted for the world to see
he hangs in strangest victory,
for in his body on the tree
he carries all our ill.
2. He died that we might die to sin
and live for righteousness;
the earth is stained to make us clean
and bring us into peace.
For peace he came, and met its cost;
he gave himself to save the lost;
he loved us to the uttermost
and paid for our release.
3. For strife he came, to bring a sword,
the truth to end all lies;
to rule in us, our patient Lord,
until all evil dies:
for in his hand he holds the stars,
his voice shall speak to end our wars
and those who love him see his scars
and look into his eyes.