a day of death, of sin, of pain
how could we call it good?
the day the son of man was slain
how could we call it good?
his flesh they whipped, his heart they tore
how could we call it good?
the wrath he suffered to settle our score
how could we call it good?
piercing nails and searing thorns,
how could we call it good?
the weight of our sins, and the cross which he bore
how could we call it good?
the rejection of heaven, the cruelty of men,
how could we call it good?
the ageless one meeting a bitter end
how could we call it good?
Yet he screamed it is finished
as he breathed his last
on that terrible good friday
For he took the penalty, intended for us,
and he swept all our sins away
Merciful Savior, tender King, precious Lord, Messiah, Son
Though he gave up his spirit, he knew that his work
on earth had just begun
He’d rise again, He’d conquer sin
By his death forever he’d save
Though the night was gruesome, and full of grief
He knew Sunday was not far away
No wonder we call it good.
