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Caught as in an olive press
they called Gethsemane.
The curse began He to address
and feel the agony.
Great waves of pain
swept through each vein
as Christ sweat drops of blood.
As on Him it began to rain
wrath, down from high above.
And He who in Himself was found
no spot nor speck of sin,
was now about to feel the pain
as my Judgement fell on Him.
And by His stripes My soul is healed
and my guilt is washed away,
His back was plowed, His skin hung peeled,
what due me did on Him lay.
His dying was a must for me, if I would e’er be saved.
To the Father’s House He led the way,
but with blood that way was paved.
The soldiers pressed their thorny crown
again into His head.
And on his face His blood ran down
in streams of crimson red.
The masses gawked at Calvary,
a place known as the Skull.
a debt I owed, he paid for me
now all charges void and null. -id