Are the thorns alike,
the thorn crown on His head,
the thorns of the rose
on His head they prick it to bleed
red blood like rose of Sharon,
an empty tomb and cross
will later make a beauty forever
the droppings and doubts of fall
show the cold hearts of the weak,
hot passion of His love blend into the wonders of spring
there will be pain on the way
but He took it on His head,
it is finished,
we cannot be finished
the thorns will never pierce again
the rose will never wither,
springing from Jesus
the root of Jesse
