April is National Poetry Month.

The Cross Was His Own
Author Unknown

They borrowed a bed to lay His head
When Christ the Lord came down;
They borrowed the ass in the
mountain pass
For Him to ride to town;
But the crown He wore
And the cross He bore
Were His own.
The Cross was His own.

He borrowed the bread when the
crowd He fed
On the grassy mountain side;
He borrowed the dish of broken fish
With which He satisfied;
But the crown He wore
And the cross He bore
Were His own.
The Cross was His own.

He borrowed the ship in which to sit
To teach the multitude;
He borrowed the nest in which to rest,
He had never a home so rude;
But the crown He wore
And the cross He bore
Were His own.
The Cross was His own.

He borrowed a room on the way to the tomb
The Passover lamb to eat;
They borrowed the cave; for Him a grave;
They borrowed the winding sheet.
But the crown He wore
And the cross He bore
Were His own.
The Cross was His own.

The thorns on His head were worn in my stead,
For me the Saviour died.
For guilt of my sin the nails drove in
When Him they crucified;
But the crown He wore
And the cross He bore
Were His own–
My Cross He owned.