There was a lowly thornbush
A thing of no import
Growing in a dusty corner
Of the fortress court
No one gave it any mind
Until one day in spring
It had a front row view
Of the scourging of a King
A mocking Roman soldier
Took note of it that day
Twisted up a crown from it
On Christ’s head it lay
Never was a crown so ugly
So brutal, coarse and sharp
But on the dying Savior’s head
It played a fitting part
Jesus died and rose again
Many lost ones have been found
And from a lowly thorn bush
Has come a Victor’s crown
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