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I can imagine His nailed hands and feet.
The crown of thorns on His head
piercing deep.
And I can almost hear Him lovingly speak, “Father forgive them.”
I can imagine the dark of the sky,
While His dear mother
with tears in her eyes,
Watches her precious Son
as He slowly dies.
“Father forgive them.
They know not what they do.”

I can see the soldier stand with his sword,
Ready to pierce the side of
the blessed Lord.
And I can almost see the blood
as it poured.
“Father forgive them.
They know not what they do.”

*And after all that He did,
after all that He said,
After healing their pain,
they put thorns on His head.
They beat Him, despised,
spit upon His sweet face.
Then they stood up and cheered
As He died in their place.
If we were there, would we realize
That we were the reason
for the pain in His eyes?
Would we see Him dying for us?
And would we lay humbly crying
at the foot of the cross?

And do we really think we’re better
than they?
How often do we sin against Him each day?
Guilty just as the soldier raising his blade.
“Father forgive them.
They know not what they do.”
To run on through His pain was
an everlasting love.
He left His power and reign
to pay for our sin with His blood.
He willingly died there for us.
We are forgiven at the foot of the cross.