Looking back to the hill of Calvary, these things at the foot of the cross I see.
A crown of thorns, splattered with mud; a soldier’s spear, fresh tipped with blood.
The tears of a mother’s age old grief; and tears of joy, shed by a thief.
A sponge filled with vinegar, a broken reed; three rusty nails, for which no need.
And tossed to one side is the sign they used – “this is Jesus, King of the Jews.”
A reed and a spear, a crown and a tear, to remind the world that Christ died here.
But one thing more, by faith I see; at the foot of the cross – a place for me.
