Good Friday

It is Good Friday, the day the Jesus died so that we don't have to. Today I (Jesse) was looking at some of the hymns about the cross and Good Friday. I came across 'O Sacred Head, Now Wounded'. The words are a poem that is ascribed to Bernard of Clairvaux, a Medieval writer who wrote other hymns as well.

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O sacred Head, now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded, With thorns Thine only crown:
How pale Thou art with anguish, With sore abuse and scorn,
How does the visage languish, Which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered Was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior; 'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, Assist me with Thy grace.

What language shall I borrow To thank thee, dearest Friend,
For this, Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, And should I fainting be,
Lord let me never, never outlive my love for Thee.
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As the the first line of the last verse reminds us: this is not a day of mourning; it is a day of astonished thanks to God for a gift that is undeserved, the greatest gift possible: the gift of life!
It is Good Friday!