King of Us All

With whips and their fists Jesus's body they maimed.
They stripped Him and beat Him and clothed Him in shame.
A purple robe on His shoulders, a crown of thorns on His head,
They didn't care who He was; they wanted Him dead.
"Hail, King of the Jews!" was what they would shout,
As they sent Him to die and silence their doubt.
They delivered Him up, like food on a platter.
They called for His death for His life did not matter.
If He is the Savior, the King of us all,
Will God let Him die? Will He let His Son fall?
They gave Him the chance to prove them all wrong,
But He didn't budge; He knew all along.
This was His fate, it was part of the plan.

There on skull hill He hung arms open wide,
Then a guard took a spear, and he pierced His side.
Onlookers watched and religious men scoffed,
"If You are God's son, come down from that cross!"
But Jesus hung still; on that tree He would stay.
Death was already coming, He would not turn it away.
A sign over His head read "King of the Jews."
It was made as a joke; if only they knew
That it wasn't a joke and it wasn't a game.
He was that man, He did bear that name.
Though it was noon, the whole world grew dark.
Then Jesus stirred on the cross and made a remark:
"God, why have You left Me, where have You gone?"
And He breathed His last as the people looked on.
They mocked and they spat and they left Him for dead.
They thought it was finished when low hung His head.
So down came His body, and they wrapped it in
Linen to conceal and to cover all the wounds He'd been given.
He was sealed in a tomb by a door made of stone,
Laid flat on a rock with no crown or a throne.
Satan was pleased; he thought he was winning.
But this isn't the end, it's just the beginning.