A sharp and cruel crown of thorns
the brow of Jesus Christ adorns
and down from His piercèd head
crimson drops of blood were shed.
Jesus wore that crown for me,
and suffered there to set me free.
Wounds of love borne in my stead
from those thorns upon His head
Then whipping Him in their hatred
they scourged His back until it bled.
Lash by lash my sins price was paid
as by each stripe His back was flayed.
'Forgive him Father', was His cry
as He bowed down His head to die.
Such Love as His I'd never known
that He should die my love to own.
From His hands, side and feet I see
the wounds of love He'd borne for me.
I do not deserve love like this;
a love so wonderful as His
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem