Upon a hill so dark and high, The Savior hung beneath the sky. No robe of gold, no royal thread— A crown of thorns upon His head.
The crowd grew still, the sky turned gray, As heaven watched love poured away. His hands were pierced, His side was torn, For every soul that would be born.
No angels came to lift Him down, No earthly throne, no victor’s crown— Yet in that stillness, mercy cried, And hope was born the day He died.
He bore our shame, He took our place, He looked with love into disgrace. Each drop of blood, each ragged breath, A path of life through gates of death.
And though we mourn this sacred loss, We do not weep without the cross. For Sunday dawns with glory bright— From death shall rise the Lord of Light.
So kneel today where shadows fall, And hear His voice—He died for all. The darkest day the world had known Became the day love overthrown… Was crowned the King upon His throne.
