Have you ever stopped to wonder
Why they called Good Friday “good”?
It seems to me that sad, black day
Could be misunderstood.
How His Father must have anguished
As He watched His dear Son die,
And not for crimes that He had done,
But for sinners such as I.
What kind of love could be so great,
To suffer willingly
The penalty for someone else;
His blood was shed for me.
But then when Sunday came around
And death had lost its sting,
That glorious morn’ was victory
For Jesus Christ, the King!
Now He’s alive for evermore.
The Father’s will was done.
Forgiveness, pardon, full and free,
By trusting in God’s Son.
It was a “good” Good Friday
For the thief who died there too;
He took his place in Heaven
When that long, dark day was through.
I am grateful to my Saviour:
My life to Him I owe.
I’ll serve and love Him always,
Because He loved me so.
by Rose Newman
Used by Permission