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He answered Never a word
A friendless pris�ner at Pilate�s bar,
�Mid the raging mob He stood;
Like wolves that had scented His blood from afar
And eagerly Him pursued;
The voice of these murd�rers was heard as they cried,
Till Jerusalem�s city was stirred;
�Away with Him, let Him be crucified�;
But He answered never a word.
The priests and the elders with fiendish spite,
Accused Him of many things;
But His face was radiant with heavenly light,
He could hear the sound of wings;
And Pilate marveled to see Him there,
As each wicked charge he heard,
His mute lips moved as in silent prayer,
But He answered never a word.
With fiercest hatred his foes pressed on,
To kill Him their greatest desire;
The faith of His foll�wers was almost gone,
Must the last faint spark expire?
Will He meekly yield in His dreadful hour,
When a murderer is preferred?
He who raised the dead, has He lost His pow�r?
But He answered never a word.
Then they brought the cross that Barabbas should fill,
He, a murderer, now to go free;
And they laid in on Jesus to bear up the hill,
To purchase salvation for me;
Though hungry and thirsty, and bleeding and cold,
Not a sigh passed His lips that was heard;
He trembled a moment, then sank to the ground,
But He answered never a word.
The rabble with spite and revenge urged them on,
Till He came to Calvary�s brow,
Where they nailed His hands and His feet to the cross�
O sinner, look on him now!
Then raising the cross, oh, what suff�ring and pain!
Till the earth and the heavens were stirred,
But the suffering Jesus with meekness endured,
But He answered never a word.
But there hung by His side a thief, broken and sad,
With sins that were all his own,
And he cried, �Dear Lord, remember me
When Thou sittest on Thy throne�;
And the Savior turned and looked upon him,
His compassion deep was stirred;
And peace, sweet peace He shed o�er that soul�
He could answer him with a word.
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