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.