Coming alive as I’m led to the grave,
Being set free while becoming a slave;
I could never leave,
For I am free indeed ,
Because of Love’s beautiful irony.
The poor become rich and the first become last,
Hating your foe becomes part of the past;
In Him blind eyes see,
Broken hearts believe,
The truth of Love’s beautiful irony.
The battle’s been won before it’s been fought,
With the life of one Man a thousand’s been bought;
Who can bear but He,
No mortal’s strength receive,
The weight of Love’s beautiful irony.
His body the bread and His blood is our wine,
Broken and poured out, His love so Devine;
None is kind save He,
Our Lord forever be,
Slain for Love’s beautiful irony.