Good Friday

On this very day,
The darkest of all,
For God and for men,
Since humanity's fall.
The Lamb, He was slain,
Son of God and Son of man,
A hard and brutal death,
It seems strange that anyone can,
Call this day good,
When the skies all turned black,
When our Savior died,
And God on God did turn His back.
A criminal's death upon a tree,
Blood from His hands, feet, and side,
Yes in this His darkest moment,
"Father forgive them" He cried.
O how can it be?
What amazing grace upon grace,
God turned His back on Himself,
That I might see His face.
He took my sin,
Though He had none in Himself,
That I might have Him,
His righteousness, His wealth.
And while I mocked,
And cursed His great name,
He bore my very cross,
He endured my own shame.
And when it was finished,
He rose again and could,
See the redemption of His people,
And that is why this day is called "good".


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