I've planted seeds of wrath and sin, but He
Lies dead inside a tomb, for days encased
Within a shell that should imprison me,
But justifying payment is embraced.
The third sun rises on His winter's wait,
And in the smiling light, the seed explodes.
Though stagnant once, the life-blood circulates,
And living, free as blood, forgiveness flows.
His heart bursts into blossom and it beats
With laughter and with songs of victory.
Like springtime rain, His blood has drenched the seat
Of mercy. Jesus sings sufficiency.
For me this priest will ever intercede.
Unfurled here at this tomb is life indeed.