The Maker of the universe,
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As Man for man was made a curse.
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The claims of Law which He had made,
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Unto the uttermost He paid.
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His holy fingers made the bough,
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Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow.
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The nails that pierced His hands were mined
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In secret places He designed.
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He made the forest whence there sprung
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The tree on which His body hung.
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He died upon a cross of wood,
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Yet made the hill on which it stood.
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The sky that darkened o'er His head,
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By Him above the earth was spread.
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The sun that hid from Him it's face
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By His decree was poised in space.
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The spear which spilled His precious blood
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Was tempered in the fires of God.
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The grave in which His form was laid
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Was hewn in rocks His hands had made.
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The throne on which He now appears
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Was His for everlasting years.
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But a new glory crowns His brow
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And every knee to Him shall bow.
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Maker Of The Universe
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| Phil Keaggy |
