They borrowed a bed to lay his head,
When Christ the Lord came down;
They borrowed an ass in the mountain pass
For Him to ride to town;
But the crown that He wore
And the cross that He bore
Were His Own.
He borrowed the bread when the crowd He fed
On the grassy mountainside;
He borrowed the dish of broken fish
With which He satisfied;
But the crown that He wore
And the cross that He bore
Were 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 that He wore
And the cross that He bore
Were His Own.
He borrowed a room on the way to the tomb
The Passover lamb to eat;
They borrowed a cave, for Him a grave,
They borrowed a winding sheet;
But the crown that He wore
And the cross that He bore
Were His Own.
The thorns in His head were worn in my stead;
For me the Saviour died;
For the guilt of my sin the nails drove in
When Him they crucified;
Though the crown that He wore
And the cross that He bore
Were His own,
They rightly were mine – instead.
