Do we mistake
That for thirty silver pieces we value a being worth eternity,
While a shepherd to sheep prepared for slaughter,
We see Him a black sheep?
Could we not discern
That while he had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him,
Nothing in His appearance that we would desire,
Tis our weaknesses be bore?
The old rugged cross,
Heavy as was, where His body dripping blood they'll lift up pinned,
His sacred head, now wounded and encircled with a pricking crown,
He bore all.
The heavens starless,
Would hide the face of sun and moon for a moment as earth quakes,
His last whisper is a scream of deep anguish, telling my spirit
"Access to God is granted, by this, now."
©Olomunyak
©olomunyak
O