He sweeps in holy
like a hurricane.
A hammer thunders
fiercely from the sky.
He wholly burns in
gorgeous, reckless rain
Of grace. Who knew
it hurt so much to die?
Did You know in Your
passion as He poured
You out like endless
water, melted wax?
If I am rendered
senseless by guilt's sword,
Were You whom He
made sin, split by His ax?
My lonely silver
Tree bends passively
To sufferings. The
foolishness of God!
With veins of
gossamer, invincibly,
I'm held, and wine
runs from the press He trod.
I'm killed, I live,
I wither, loved by You.
Behold what You have
done and to me do.
No comments:
Post a Comment