by Kathleen May Lawson
Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus,
he delivered him to be crucified. (Matthew 27: 16)
Barabbas the rebel was angry,
He cursed as he heaved on his chains,
How had Pilate found out all about him?
Just when he was making such gains.
A lot of poor people were for him,
He had promised to freedom them from Rome,
And now he was rotting in prison
To ponder his fate, all-alone.
But the crowds in the courtyard remembered
And his name they cried out loud and clear,
Choose this day between Christ and Barabbas,
And they chose him, perhaps out of fear.
As the door of the jail clanged behind him,
And the sunlight shone down on his face
Did he think of the One they were scourging?
Who would die on the Cross-in his place?
Did Barabbas go on to Golgotha?
Was he curious to see who it would be?
That should die in his place on the hilltop,
So that he, once again, should go free.
Those nails should have pierced into his flesh,
His blood should have reddened the sod,
I wonder, did he know that this Jesus
Was really the Great Son of God?
Yet we, each one, are all guilty,
You and I, just like him, should be there.
For the Lord Jesus Christ died in our place,
He came our transgressions to bear.
Like Barabbas, our souls are imprisoned
Till the Lord in his mercy we see,
Come to Him, and believe, he will save you,
And accepting Him, you will go free.
Oh, I trust that one-day over yonder,
Where the saints are all singing His praise,
And we live in the glory of heaven,
That Barabbas will look on His face,
For he was that notable prisoner,
Who on that central cross should have died.
Oh, I hope that he saw, as he looked there,
For his sins was the Lord crucified.