We stand to fall and live within defeat,
Our life is cursed and now can only hope
Our cries do not forget whom they’re to meet.
Oh, that my cries would bring a saving rope
To we, and from my misery save me.
We flounder alone in water so deep it drowns
Our souls, our life, and all we were to be,
But what is this my eyes doth see, a crown
That shines with life for me, a face that bleeds,
With pain it screams, a love of pure display.
Who is this King who plants purest of seeds?
I now am sure it t’was for Him we prayed.
The King who left behind an empty tomb,
The King who saved us out of certain doom.
by Ryan Wormald