The fairest rose is that which blooms
Upon the sacred tree
The sweetest fruit comes from the field
Of far-off Calvary
For he who made the sun to shine
And caused the days to turn
Gave his own life blood for his love
And our redemption earn.
Each thorn that pierced his homely brow
He wore it just for me
Each lash upon his back he bore
To set my spirit free.
That bitter wine upon his lips
Was all the comfort he
Was offered then to ease his pain
Of his his humanity
But there he broke the chains of sin
By his atoning loss
He broke the gates of hell and death
Made glory of the cross
No devil fierce or sin so foul
Could stand before its glare
Yet we who blind and helpless are
Behold it shining there.
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