An Easter Hymn

He kneels alone–His friends asleep–the press is bearing down.
His blood is seeping out like wine, He claws the barren ground.


Beneath the world’s weight He moans and seeks another way.
But still He prays: “Thy will be done”–a wayward world to save.

They crown His brow with thorns and nail His frame upon the cross.
In disbelief, disciples watch and count salvation’s cost.
His Father hides His face and weeps, the pain is like a knife
thrust deep inside His broken heart–God mourns the sacrifice.

But three morns hence a beaming angel rolls away the stone.
Arrayed in white, the Savior leaves the press He trod alone.
Apostles stare in disbelief, then touch His love-scarred hands.
His Father gathers in His arm the Wounded Risen Lamb.

Christ’s white-hot love and sacrifice melt my metal heart.
I sense His love and suffering and long to do my part.
I pray that Christ-like I may offer body, heart, and soul
and through His sacrifice come home–pure, perfect, healed and whole.

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Published in: on August 3, 2006 at 11:13 pm  Leave a Comment  

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