THE TREE FOR THE CROSS
by Colin Moffett
I stood in the forest growing so strong
From all of my companions I was numbered among
They picked me out as the rough barked tree
To crucify the Saviour of men on the hard wood of me
I felt each blow as they cut me down
Then pared of the branches of my leaf topped crown
And used one of them, the limbs of my loss
To nail it to my trunk and form me as a cross
They brought Jesus out with His thorn crowned head
The wounds of His body were dripping blood red
And they tossed me over His shoulder to carry me along
But they had abused Him so much He was no longer strong
He could not carry me but I carried His frame
For He was fixed to my trunk and they pinned on me His name
As they nailed His hands and feet I felt that I could
Feel His pain, for each nail through Him also pierced into my wood
Secured to my timber, they lifted us both high
And they stood back to mock and watch Jesus die
In the long dreadful hours so solemn and dark
I felt His poor body writhe on my bark
Its roughness I hated and wished it to be smooth
For I would have given anything His body to soothe
My sap mixed with His blood and sweat He was perspiring
And knew by His breathing His life was expiring
The trembling in His body slowly diminished
Then ceased all breathing for life was finished
The Saviour of sinners hanging dead on me
And I wished otherwise it could be
For I did not want to be the one
To carry on me God's dear Son
But it was ordained that Jesus should die on a tree
And His blood that was spilled was spilled on me
The wood of my body is long since gone
A risen Saviour still lives on
When by coming to Jesus sinners can recover their loss
I am glad I played my part by being the tree for the cross
