They Took Him Down
by Jimmy Owens from the cantata "No other Lamb"
They took Him down, His poor dead body,
and prepared Him for His burial.
They took Him down, His poor pale body
drained of life, ashen, and stained
with its own life-blood.
His healing hands, now pierced and still;
Serving hands, that broke five loaves
to feed five thousand;
Holy hands, often folded in fervent prayer;
Poor gentle hands, now pierced and still.
His poor torn feet, now bloodied and cold;
Feet that walked weary miles
to bring good news to broken hearts
Feet once washed in penitent's tears;
Poor torn feet, now bloodied and cold.
His kingly head, made for a crown,
now crowned—with thorns.
His poor kingly head, crowned with thorns.
His gentle breast, now pierced by
spear-thrust, quiet and still;
His poor loving breast.
His piercing eyes, now dark and blind;
Eyes of compassion, warming the soul;
Fiery eyes, burning at sin;
Tender eyes, beckoning sinners;
His piercing eyes, now dark and blind.
His matchless voice, fountain of the Father's
thoughts, stopped—
and stilled—to speak no more.
Silence now, where once had flowed
Wisdom and comfort, Spirit and life;
His matchless voice; stilled, to speak no more.
They took Him down, His poor dead body,
and prepared Him for his burial.
It's Friday but Sunday's coming!
