Crown of Thorns

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 own not-so-tender flesh; Blood spurts fresh Staining the crown of thorns I made for You With my own crimson hue. But you wore them as I placed them; Many the points the wounds With which You healed mine own. Your wounding absorbed mine My wounding healed by thine. I inflict pain, You inflict healing and balm Oh marvelous exchange From one deranged To one fully 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