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To give us grace;
In wide embrace
His open arms were posed.
His feet, which nails held fast to stay
The vengeful path
Of righteous wrath,
Awaited us who stray.
He wore a crown of thorns, not gold,
To lord it thus
Not over us,
But serve his little fold.
The side a lance had split apart,
As water streamed
And blood redeemed,
Formed windows to his heart.
Oh, would that all the wounds that scored
Hands, feet, and head,
And side that bled
Might heal our wounds, O Lord!
[ Carry Each Other's Burdens | Rejoice in Hope | Rejoice With Those Who Rejoice | Owe No Debt To Anyone | Accept Each Other | If One Member Suffers | Earthen Vessels | Forgive As The Lord Has Forgiven You | Be An Example To Believers | Keep Yourself Pure ]
This poem is © Copyright 2002 by Stephen Wentworth Arndt, Ph.D.