That Precious Blood

by Robert Breaker III

copyright 2007


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That Precious Blood

By Robert Breaker III 


On that old rugged tree,

Down the blood poured,

Shed for even me. 

A stain it left on that board,

Oh, how could this e're be?


It spilt upon the ground,

A pool it made,

Dropping all around,

There the penalty was paid,

So grace could more abound.


On that sharp, thorny crown,

Soiled he became,

Quickly it poured down,

Plummeting without an aim,

Coating like a gory gown.


On the pitiless whip,

The blood did flow,

The Flesh it did rip

Smeared by the harshest blow

The leather flog did drip.


On the sharp, piercing nail,

His blood did stain,

And they did not fail,

To pour on more dreadful pain 

As the nails left him pale.


On the sharp, pointed spear,

That pierced his side,

His skin it did sear, 

Some blood on it did abide,

The soldiers left it there. 


The mercy seat above, 

It's final resting place,

Put there by God's own love

The blood rests its case,

And saves all who come by faith.