By: Chuck Perry

When, on the road to Calvary, I paused to look around,
I stooped and found a single drop of blood upon the ground.
I rose to ask those standing near what meaning this could be,
But there were none to give me cause, none to answer me.

"This must have been a violent act, a dreadful act, I fear.
Some brother surely mourns a loss; a mother sheds a tear,
But I have work to do just now. I must be on my way.
If I remember, I will ask again some other day."

I turned to leave and journey on, to do some earthly good,
But suddenly my heart and eyes were drawn to that spilt blood.
"I must know more about this man; Whose blood could this blood be?"
So I began my journey then to visit Calvary.

Upon the way I found more blood, a drop of sweat, a thorn.
I found a bitter cup of wine, a garment ripped and torn.
Intrigued by these, I carried on to learn more of this man,
But still, no one could tell me more; I could not understand.

I heard some people speaking of a covenant of love,
Of miracles and blessings, the Spirit in a dove.
Still others spoke of promises of kingdoms and of power,
But something stirred within my breast, and in that selfsame hour,

I felt my cold heart yielding to some unearthly will,
So on to Calvary I ran, on to that lonely hill.
I looked afar and spied a man, upon a cursed tree.
I asked one standing next to me, "Who can this bruised man be?"

"He claimed to be the Son of God, his back our sins to bear,
But I think him a mortal man, a good man, just and fair.
For if he were the Son of God, the kingdom we would see.
There’d be no pain or suffering, and all men would be free."

His words could offer me no joy, no hope of light to see,
But rather, I could only feel despair inside of me.
I felt the burden of my sin; my life as filthy dross,
So, slowly now, I bowed my head and knelt beneath the cross.

I knew there must be more to this; my heart felt something more.
The bleeding man then looked at me and pierced my very core.
His eyes reflected agony, his body racked with grief.
I cried beneath his dying form, "Lord, help my unbelief!"

He looked at me and softly spoke. I hung on every word.
"They know not what they do, My God. Forgive them, O My Lord."
Then, suddenly, his face grew bright, his body, glorified,
And, through the precious blood he shed, my soul was sanctified.

No sorrow now, no bitter heart; the darkness fled away!
"O Master, let me worship thee. Please let me weep and stay.
Beneath thy cross, O Jesus, now I shall forever be."
Oh bless the day my Master called me home to Calvary.