How Could It Be?
How could it be, the maker of this Earth,
Had not where He might lay His royal head?
How could it be that men saw not his worth,
And in the end, cared not if He were dead?
No comeliness adorned His mortal face.
He found Himself rejected and despised.
A man of grief and sorrows in this place,
How could they turn from Him and hide their eyes?
Yet He who did descend below all things,
At last, did find Himself at home again,
Revered on high as Christ, the King of Kings,
The Savior and Redeemer of all men.
And He shall yet return with glory bright,
As every knee doth bend and tongue confess,
That Jesus is Messiah, source of Light.
“He is indeed God’s son,” they shall profess.
