In the West

Over the woodlands, swooping low, teasing of summer as they go, the winds play in trees I know. They blow to the ends from the West. And every day the wide skies call the mighty king to his mountain hall. Across the fields his footsteps fall. The sun goes home to the West. Here, the […]

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Grave Clothes

morning lay just beyond the stone the air washed clean of pain and sorrow in the darkness fingers brushed against linen smoothed folded over set apart for John bare feet on cool stone and the gilded glow of a new day

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What Christ Can Do

Look what Christ can do— bound as He was to a cross, weary and strangled in pain, a joke on the lips of man, a curse on the lips of God— death of the Immortal. He died like no one else— the pride of the Father’s eyes, a portal torn in the veil from Satan’s […]

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The Hands of Christ

He had the hands of a man,

grown from curled-up baby hands

to dirty, in-a-hurry boy hands

to hands that could wield

a hammer and nails;

hands obscured for thirty years

in seas of Jewish hands;

revealed—man-defying Teacher hands,

hands that could hold

and shelter and bleed;

hands, nearer with every breath,

to nail-intruded hands,

to weighed-with-the-sins-of-the-world hands,

the hands still moving,

washing dirt from feet.

His hands are the hands of God,

blameless, righteous, holy hands,

the died-and-lives-forever hands,

the hands that welcome

sinners into life.

.

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Till the End

No darkness, no cross, no death-wound of heart could keep Christ from his friends. They ate and talked and sang and slept while He loved them till the end.

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