Goblet of Wrath

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Marty Clark

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Bowed in Gethsemane
He waits with bated breath
His soul is crushed with grief
Unto the point of death
Blood, sweat, and agony
The object of His dread
Is greater than a cross
It is our bitter cup of wrath
A knife raised in the Father's hands

This is not a cross
It's the fury of God
Pouring out on His Son
For the sins of the world
More than nails
This is Hell driven into the soul of the One
Who alone could atone and pay our cost
(With His blood, this is love)
It's a curse, not a cross

Marching to Calv'ry's hill
He bends beneath our sin
But for this hour He was born
The nails are driven in
O sweet and awful sound
"My God! My God!" He cries
Forsaken in my place
But it is finished as He dies
God's justice satisfied

This is not a cross
It's the fury of God
Pouring out on His Son
For the sins of the world
More than nails
This is Hell driven into the soul of the One
Who alone could atone and pay our cost
(With His blood, this is love)
It's a curse, not a cross

I deserved to be crushed but it pleased God to crush Him
And make Him the off'ring for sin
I had chosen the goblet of wrath and destruction
But Christ took the cup from my hand
And He drank to the dregs, and He cried, "It is finished,"
My sin was condemned in the flesh
He was punished for our peace
By His wounds, we are healed

This is not a cross
It's the fury of God
Pouring out on His Son
For the sins of the world
More than nails
This is Hell driven into the soul of the One
Who alone could atone and pay our cost
(With His blood, this is love)
It's a curse, not a cross

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