His Love

Have you ever stopped to wonder

Why they called Good Friday “good”?

It seems to me that sad, black day

Could be misunderstood.

How His Father must have anguished

As He watched His dear Son die,

And not for crimes that He had done,

But for sinners such as I.

What kind of love could be so great,

To suffer willingly

The penalty for someone else;

His blood was shed for me.

But then when Sunday came around

And death had lost its sting,

That glorious morn’ was victory

For Jesus Christ, the King!

Now He’s alive for evermore.

The Father’s will was done.

Forgiveness, pardon, full and free,

By trusting in God’s Son.

It was a “good” Good Friday

For the thief who died there too;

He took his place in Heaven

When that long, dark day was through.

I am grateful to my Saviour:

My life to Him I owe.

I’ll serve and love Him always,

Because He loved me so.

by Rose Newman

Used by Permission

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