Poem written by Elder J.A. Rowell, Sr.
Christ stood in Pilate’s judgment hall,
Alone without a friend,
No one to help, he bore it all,
No lawyer to defend.
The scarlet robe, he meekly wore,
The infamy and shame,
Our guilt assumed, our sins he bore,
That we might wear his name.
They pressed upon his royal head,
A diadem of thorn,
He suffered in our room and stead,
By grief and sorrow torn.
Upon the cross, the Saviour died,
In pain and agony,
They nailed Him there and pierced his side,
For guilty men like me.
How could there be a love like this,
That Christ should bear the sins,
Of every elect son of bliss,
From since the world begins.
His righteousness, he also gave,
To every child of grace,
That we shall live, beyond the grave,
Before his blessed face.