Healing Crown

Well-dried, hard and sharp I chose, as one who knows For I have chosen before, Many a time but this time more; Hard, tempered sharp, Ready and eager to pierce, to part Unresisting skin; Seeking blood within The fragile skin. I picked them, Twisted them, Twined them Into a crown; A mocking circle of thorn; A parody and parable of disowning. In my zeal, My desire to steal That which was not mine, But Thine; But which you gave: Your pain; my gain. In my zeal to wound The thorn thrust deep into my hardened flesh; Blood spurts fresh Staining the crown I made for You With my own crimson hue. You wore them as I placed them; Many the points that wound By which You healed my own. Your wounds absorb mine; My wounding healed by Thine. I inflict pain; You inflict healing and balm. Oh marvelous exchange From one deranged To one made sane. From one crushed To one made whole. Ah Lord Jesus, how magnificent is your way; How far beyond our thought that we can pay. 1 23 12