To kill the servants who strove diligently to reunite men with the loving king. No shame felt they; no regret in life for their message, only peace lay in their hearts. Men could not silence their voices, and the great son felt joy in his heart When he welcomed them home for so faithfully carrying their thorn, Even unto death. They received their places of honor beside their king, Their whole beings were made new and upon their heads was placed a crown. They gazed down on the earth and saw a multitude innumerable which rose And offered sacrifices of praise. Heaven echoed back, their voices like drums. One day earth’s drums will sound his name in remembrance of the thorn. Every tribe will lay down their crowns and embrace Sharon’s holy rose, And all men will sing with joyful hearts, the song of the highest of Kings.
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