The scent of wood
Had always brought Him to His Father's side
And gentle childhood.
There as a boy
Jesus watched in awe
As Father shaped the world
With plane and saw.
Now as a man
Master of his craft;
He takes the beam
With willing hands.
For it is time
To finish what He wrought
A better yoke
That burdens not.
The soldiers mock
And lash the heavy beam
To shoulders raw
From a night of scourging.
Through the winding streets
The foul crowd still follows;
As Jesus bears their scorn, their sins
In silent sorrow.
See His piercing pain;
Watch His footsteps fail;
See them lift the cross;
Feel the cruel nails;
See His piercing pain;
Hear His heavy sighs;
"Why hast thou forsaken
me?"
Alone, He cries.
Now is the time
To finish what He wrought
A perfect yoke, that burdens not.
Now is the time
To make His promise good.
His only comfort now--
Is the scent of wood.
"Come unto me,
For my yoke is easy."
"Come unto me."
Words by Toni Thomas
Music by Diane Tuiofu
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