Fellowship Hall

There was no crown for Him of silver or or gold.  There was no diadem for Him to hold.  But blood a dorned His brow and proud its stain  He bore, And sinners gave to Him the crown He wore.

A rugged cross, became His throne.  His kingdom was in hearts alone.  He wrote His love in crimson red, And wore the thorns upon His head.

He did not reign up on a throne of ivory, But died upon the cross of calvary.  For sinners there He counted all He owned but loss, And He surveyed His kingdom from a cross.

A rugged cross, became His throne.  His kingdom was in hearts alone.  He wrote His love in crimson red, And wore the thorns upon His head.

No purple robe He wore His bleeding wounds to hide, But stripes upon His back He wore with pride.  And from the wounds there flowed a crimson, cleansing stream, That was a cover for the soul unclean.

A rugged cross, became His throne.  His kingdom was in hearts alone.  He wrote His love in crimson red, And wore the thorns upon His head.