The King of Kings laid down the crown, my wretched soul to save.

Like David. my Lord was a king, a potentate.

With scepter in his right hand and dainties on his plate.

He should have worn a golden crown—A robe without the jest:

But he was stripped and wounded, while giving me His best.

 

Like Aaron, he was holy. a turban crown was His.

He laid that down beside the throne—poured out eternal bliss

To come to earth to rent the veil and enter there for me

But tearing was contingent on the suffering on that tree.

 

He poured out wealth and majesty. He poured out the right to reign.

He poured out equality with God that I could access gain.

He poured out honor, left His place beside the throne of God

To sit by old Judean wells and dusty paths to trod.

 

He traded allelujas for mocking cries and shame.

He gave up all authority, inherent in His name.

He left the perfect garden for dark Gethsemane

Came down from Zion’s eternal mount, to bleed on Calvary.

 

His crown should have been golden, with holiness engraved

But piercing wooden thorns he wore, my sin-stained soul to save.

With tissue torn, exposed and rent, and cross on bleeding back

He made His way to Golgotha. While armies were in tact…

 

And stood at heaven’s ready, to rescue heaven’s prize.

They nailed him there and shouted blatant mockery and lies.

Choosing human weakness, succumbing to the death

Bruised by men He formed from dust, he breathed his final breath.

 

And in that time of tearing veil, of darkness in midday

Of dead men walking through the town and shaking earth’s display.

They took the crown, now bloody, cast it to the ground.

And wrapped him in a rich man’s cloth and laid his body down.

 

His body resting in the tomb. The  purchase is complete.

The kingdom price is paid by blood. So wonderfully sweet

Is my redemption. If I had a thousand tongues to sing

And if I had a thousand crowns that I could humbly bring…

 

And alabaster boxes to brims with fragrance filled,

The blessing of anointing Him would not the sweetness yield

To honor nail-pierced hands and feet emerging from the grave.

The King of Kings laid down the crown, my wretched soul to save.

Cindy Colley

 

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