His Crown, My Crown


Look what the wonderful Prince of Peace purchased for me.

He gave Himself, the best gift, any gift could be.

My crown is beauty, made of gold.

His was thorns, betrayed, and sold.

Mine shines when worn.

His was piercing and painful, every thorn.

Mine will last forever,

His was the most sorrowful day ever.

Mine was a gift, heaven sent.

His was excruciating, torment.

Mine was adornment, to let me have peace.

He was innocent, the thorns, deserving none of these!

Mine was a precious gift, He was choosing.

His was crushing and bruising.

Mine, He lifted my face, in His palm, brushed back a tear.

You no longer have to worry, I am here.

He hushed away ever fear, I sobbed a psalm of praise,

A  phrase of grace, He whispered,

Combing through my hair, a crown.

A pure and beloved bride, attired in a wedding gown.

It should have been His crown, my crown.

But He chose to love me, lifting up my head.

My Prince of Peace, He gave me life, choosing death, instead.

My beloved Prince of Peace, now risen from the dead.

My head was down, He picked me up.

In Gethsemane, He drank, from a bitter cup.

Awaiting the day, His beloved, He would wed.

A holy and joyous marriage, to arrange.

Oh, my Prince of Peace, what a costly exchange!

Now, crucified, His head was down,

All so I could wear His crown.

His crown, thorns and grief.

My crown, worn in peace.


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