The Cross

The Cross

You told your Father you were willing

to die on the cross alone;

The blood you sweated in the garden,

in the moonlight brightly shone.


Surely there was another way

to wash away our sin,

But your Father whispered softly,

“Your death will cover the evil of all men.”


After three times of asking,

You stood with joy to carry the cross;

Your eyes focused straight ahead,

not on all the pain and loss.


You stretched out your hands

For the men who nailed the spikes;

You chose to die between the thieves

For the world’s sin and mine.


Your Father turned His back,

Your blackness from the sin too great,

While you cried out loudly,

“Forgive them.  They don’t know their mistake.”


Then you died with love in your heart;

the job was done, the sin to forgive.

Only three days later you rose again

giving power to all to really live.


I told you I was willing

to die on my cross alone,

But I left it lying on the ground

and turned from the lonely road.


I’ll take my precious cross again,

willing to die today.

And not look back at what might have been

outside your narrow way.



Copyright © 1996 by Jane Carole Stein


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