Classic Poem

They nailed my Saviour to the cross,
The cross on Calvary;
'Twas there in agony He died
For sinful souls like me.

They placed upon His brow a crown,
A cruel crown of thorn;
Placed it upon that gentle brow,
In bitter hate and scorn.

Despised, rejected, loving still,
My dear Lord suffered there;
“Forgive, they know not what they do,”
His tender dying prayer.

How can I show my love to Him
Who suffered thus for me?
All that I have—a humble gift
His evermore shall be.