Rivers of red crimson Running down the scarred marks of the tree This is the lamb He stands condemned But He’s innocent–far from guilty! He consented to this death He went most willingly. See the pools of blood near his broken feet, How deeply he was grieved, And blood seeped out of his scars burned dry, His accusers lied in a hail of insults, which led to the silver heads of nails gleaming in sunlight. He went without a fight, Shed in colours of red, A sign above his head, “King of the Jews,” And soon his side they would pierce, The plan was drawing near, As the end in sight, My God is setting sinners right. He dies here for me, My death he defeats, This is the colour of love, crimson it is, In tones of above, Of different shades in a myriad choice, As they hoisted him high upon the cross, He was saving the lost with his grace, Taking my place, Forgiving what I had done, And crimson the colour of His love. So deep and bright, The light that shines from this innocent lamb, His flesh, a robe of purple and blue, Of hues in greens and grey, In dark shades of night and deep blue, Scars that line his side, They slashed his back, And blinded His eyes with dripping blood, And sipping sour wine he refused. No one soothed his agony, Of his destiny no one was aware, As he hung, oh, as he hung there, And as day grew dark, His slashed chest quivered, The taste of sweat so salty and bitter– He shivered, The rough cross against his skin so splintered, The apostles fled with faith so thin. How he wept as he died, As he heard the cries, insults and shouts so loud and so great in number, They thundered–it blended with the stutter of of his failing heart-thud pounding loudly… in his eardrums, So numb were his arms that hung apart so long, And looking around His friends were all gone, But strong is his love, He carried their sins, With spears they poked between his ribs, And his only crime, Carrying others sins? The shallow stillness of his quivering breath, He edges near… edges near death. The steps he took, Dragging the cross, The lost he is saving, Dying to kill death, Sighing he gave… He gave his last breath. And in day, When sky drew darker than night, In fright the Roman soldiers ran, For they new he was more than a mere man “It is finished,” The son had fulfilled the plan.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Jul 2013 17:50:02 +0000
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