The Crowning with Thorns

There can be no other crown for Me
but this crown of pain and derision . . .
as it wraps My heart with thorns of bitter sorrow.
 
There can be no other coronation for Me
but this long arduous procession . . .
a pomp and circumstance of mockery and despair.
 
A King without a country . . .
A Prince of Peace Who knows no peace . . .
 
As I ascend the dark and lonely mountain . . .
and as the road rises to meet its inevitable end . . .
this passage from life
into life’s final sorrow
will reconcile every heart
with the Heart of our Loving Father . . .
for My death
will open a doorway to new life . . .
and My voice . . .
an invitation to new hope . . .
will summon all people with a proclamation of love:
 
Awake My beloved . . .
My beautiful one . . .
you who slumber
in the confines of easy allegiance . . .
 
Arise My beloved . . .
My beautiful one . . .
you who thirst
for a covenant of absolute love . . .
 
Come . . .
refresh yourself . . .
and drink of the cup I drink . . .
for I have set a place for you at My table
and I have written your name
in the palm of My hand.