I've done things in this life that shame me so,
Things I would never want others to know,
These sins of weakness would haunt me still,
If it wasn't for the blood on Golgotha Hill.
Close your eyes and imagine the day,
They came to the garden, to take Jesus away,
Thirty pieces of silver was Judas's pay,
With a kiss on the cheek, the Lord was betrayed.
The soldiers took him, and bound his hands tight,
Although He is God, He put up no fight.
They took Him to Pilate to stand and be tried,
Pilate asked the crowd, should He live or die,
"What is your choice?", Pilate asked of them,
Their thunderous response was, "Crucify Him!"
They took Him, and beat Him, with leather and stone,
With each wicked slash, they cut to the bone,
They mocked Him, and cursed Him, and spat in His face,
Yet He showed them no anger, no hate ... not a trace.
Broken and bleeding, weak from blood loss,
On His back, through the streets, He carried His cross.
They marched Him along, taunting Him still,
To the infamous place called Golgotha hill.
With three big spikes, they nailed His hands and His feet.
While the soldiers laughed, and His mother wept.
Imagine if you can, the way it would feel,
The spear in the side, the tear of the steel,
The agony He felt on Golgotha hill.
As He hung on the cross, His moments now few,
He prayed, "Forgive them Father, they know not what they do!"
With sweet drops of blood, His life ebbed away,
With those sweet drops of blood, my sins were all paid.
It shames me to think of the price that was paid,
The life that was given, the sacrifice made.
It shames me to know that He suffered and died,
For someone like me, who has sinned and lied.
Death and Hell would hunt me still,
If it wasn't for the blood on Golgotha hill.
