From the pages of the prophets
He stepped out into the world
And walked the earth in lowly majesty
For He had been Creator
A creature now was He
Come to bare love's sacred mystery

He the Truth was called a liar
The only lover hated so
He was many times a martyr before He died
Forsaken by the Father
Despised by all the world
He alone was born to be the Crucified

Upon the cross of glory
His death was life to me
A sacrifice of love's most sacred mystery
And death rejoiced to hold Him
Though soon He would be free
For love must always have the victory

Though no rhyme could ever tell it
And no words could ever say
And no chord is foul enough to sing the pain
Still we feel the burden
And suffer with Your song
You love us so and yet You bid us sing
Upon the cross of glory
His death was life to me
A sacrifice of love's most sacred mystery
And death rejoiced to hold Him
Though soon He would be free
For love must always have the victory

Upon the cross of glory
His death was life to me
A sacrifice of love's most sacred mystery
And death rejoiced to hold Him
Though soon He would be free
For love must always have the victory
Love must always have the victory