Jesus prostrate, in the garden cried
Oh Father, not My will be done, but Thine
And we are left to ponder
What anguish thrashed His mind
What torture pierced His precious heart
To sweat great drops of blood
And cry in deepest grief
In agony of love
Suffering our cruel judgement
The scorn, the lash, the rod-
And then, the harshest parting yet
Rejection by His loving God
While suspended on the cross
En masse, despised by man
To fully bear our deprivation,
His Father dropped His hand
Alone, unshielded, there to hang
No comfort braced His soul
No God to call in prayer
The most alone of all
'Twas never fair His righteous heart
Should take the whipping of our God
But none other had His perfect love
To feel that cruel rod
He let Himself be fully scorned
To wear that mocking crown
He alone, took all our sin
No other could be found
He bore my guilt,
He took my place
He did it all
My sin to take
And now, in Him we are embraced
To not, like He, be left alone
I want to touch that precious face
See scars that ought to be my own
From that cruel wreathe, relinquished,
No more that bleeding brow-
Bears thorns of sin and death
For our Beloved wears 'The Crown'
Soft Easter whispers from
Derry's Heart Poems © 2008
heartwhispers@iinet.net.au
Poetry From The Heart
But death He did not want for us,
and thus Jesus Christ,
in perfect love, became our death-
only, to be our life.
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