The Price He Paid

The Crimson Thread

His blood fell softly on rugged wood,
Not spilled in weakness, but poured in love.
Each scarlet drop spoke mercy loud,
A holy language sent from above.

It washed the dust from broken hearts,
Made sinners clean, made captives free,
Turned shame to crowns and grief to hope,
And opened blind eyes so we could see.

The crimson thread through history runs,
From promised Lamb to empty grave,
Binding heaven’s hope to human pain,
Declaring boldly: I came to save.

No gold could buy what blood has paid,
No work could earn this perfect grace,
Only the cross where Jesus stood,
And took our place with steady face.

Now when I fall, I lift my eyes,
To that red river flowing still,
Not from fresh wounds, but living power,
That heals, restores, redeems God’s will.

Oh precious blood, my refuge strong,
My shelter when the storms appear,
You speak forgiveness over me,
And silence every voice of fear.

Forever marked by Calvary’s love,
Forever His, forever free,
I stand redeemed by Jesus’ blood—
The greatest gift He gave for me.