His Crown

I dreamed of my King in priestly robes,
He wore a golden crown.
I tried to move closer to see his face,
His head was hung down.
I wondered why the King of all
Would lower his eyes just so,
I moved on through the crowded throng
His heart I wished to know.

From a distance the crown was made of gold
As I drew near my eyes beheld,
A crown of Roses upon his head.
In his presence my courage failed.
I stopped and wondered why the change?
What made the difference in my view?
Had my heart changed from here to there?
I looked back on my path my eyes were new.

I turned once again to behold my king.
The crown of roses replaced instead,
By a crown of thorns sharp and long
Great drops of blood covered his head.
His eyes now looked directly into mine
I shuttered as the thought it came,
How many drops of blood were shed?
How many bore my name?

Before my Savior I now stood,
Where oft I’d stood before.
Now my eyes were opened,
I’d forget his love no more.
Atoned for me his very blood,
He a precious price had paid.
His love indeed changed my life,
My heart, my crown, at his feet I’ve laid.