Born to Die

Gentle Jesus. Born a King.

You laid in a foul feeding trough

Appearing to many as humbly.

O, how You were hunted down and brutally beaten

Like a lamb led to the slaughter.

O, Beautiful Savior: You were so brave to die for me. . . .

Prior to Your divine descent,

Your Heavenly Father kissed Your tiny forehead

Knowing that a great King You’d one day be.

But the price You’d pay

Would be a crown of thorns

Woven together by man

To mock God’s kingdom

And fit Your skull perfectly.

He cupped Your little hands

And massaged Your perfect pink feet

Knowing that at the appointed time

Predestined spikes of cold, calculated steel

Would penetrate Your innocent hide.

He formed Your ribs in place

And covered them with muscle and skin.

He touched Your side,

Wiping a tear from His eye,

Leaving just enough room for a sharp spear to hide.

He held You in His arms,

One last time and whispered in Your ear,

“O, sweet Child of Mine

In whom I am well pleased.

Know that the King of the Jews

Is born to die 

To pay the price

As the world’s most significant sacrifice.

It’s sad, yet true,

This world won’t have room for You—

Lest You be hung on a splintered cross.

But don’t be dismayed, My Son,

It’s Our gain and Satan’s loss.”

Chester Delagneau


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