THE CALL FROM HIS CROSS.


It was a dark night.
Cold and wet, heaviness surrounding the air.
But, yea, the Moon did give her light,
She understood the burden He must bear.
He fell on His face, troubled, threatening to tear apart;
His Heart was bracing up for the unknown.
The blood vessels tearing up with a start - 
Made it fall - The Blood of the Master, Rejected and Alone.
He prayed: "Let this cup pass away from me, Father -"
"But I do not want My will done, only Yours, only Yours"....

Snore, snore, snore.
They lay in deep sleep,
Praying, to them was a chore - 
That they just couldn't keep.
'Twas His voice in agony,
Which kept them awake that moment.
Yet, they didn't go on their knees
Till they saw the beginning of His torment.
They fled, all of them, save the Man, Peter
Who stood afar, and then, betrayed Him.

He was bruised for our transgressions;
Beaten, spat on by His Creature.
He alone had great Compassion,
This great Love, choosing to suffer was its chief feature.
A Crown of thorns, placed on His Head,
With a rod, hitting it to drive them through His Flesh,
Was just the beginning of that which led to His being dead;
For from His Hands and Feet and side, poured blood, in torrents, yet, remaining fresh.
Falling and rising, yea, weakened,
The Saviour arrived at Calvary.

And on that Cross He died,
'Twas for your sake, I say.
He showed it all, when He cried:
"Father, forgive them", this is a debt I must pay.

He bore it all.
He gave it all. 
Give Him a chance, 'fore  the Trumpet's Call.
Your life is safe when you answer His Call.

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