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

And we thought that was the end …

But it was only the beginning!

Jimmy Owens (from the musical ‘The Witness’)