Do you feel the pain of nails, thrust through your tender hands,
Do you feel those evil thorns, a crown twisted in bands,
The excruciating agony, of iron pierced through your feet,
The shame of being spat upon, on a Roman pebbled street,
Do you feel that wretched whip, draw blood upon your back,
Hear the scourge’s mocking cries; the whip’s report and crack.
Do you share His anguish, when by God He was forsaken.
Disciples all but one had fled, as His righteous life was taken.
Have you carried His cursed cross, for just a pace or two,
Have you heard His cries, His pleas, bourn down in time to you.
Have you ever wept aloud, for this price He paid for sin.
Do you believe He died for you and His Spirit dwells within.
If your heart, spirit, mind and soul, have never felt His sword,
Then without doubt my friend, “You know not…my precious Lord”
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