Refusing the cup that would deaden the pain
To drink the cup that meant our gain,
He, Servant of all, trod a thorn-girt path
To bleed and to die and give all that he hath,
His soul crushed down in grief’s dark hour
That others might gain by his sacrifice power,
His priestly garments he laid aside
To wash the feet of the weary and tried,
His Majesty linked with service so low,
He dared to stoop, that he might show
His power to bend, His joy to serve,
And touched His cup lip to the cup’s cold curve
To drink the cup that meant our gain,
He, Servant of all, trod a thorn-girt path
To bleed and to die and give all that he hath,
His soul crushed down in grief’s dark hour
That others might gain by his sacrifice power,
His priestly garments he laid aside
To wash the feet of the weary and tried,
His Majesty linked with service so low,
He dared to stoop, that he might show
His power to bend, His joy to serve,
And touched His cup lip to the cup’s cold curve
(Author unknown)
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