Beyond Golgotha
He holds the hands of those who sorrow
Who’ve no bread for tomorrow.
He carries children who trip in travails;
Bore our burdens in His hands with nails.
Hombre, Hombre, man of sorrows.
Lead my yolk with heavy twine.
Crush my heart, bleeding wholly Thine.
You smoldered my sin to a fragrant aroma
And died that I might live beyond Golgotha.
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