There lived near old Jerusalem,
A lad with withered hand—
Despised, rejected by his friends,
An outcast in the land.
Just days before the Festival
The boy was roused from sleep
‘Twas time to choose for Passover,
A lamb from ‘mong their sheep.
“A male lamb, that’s one year old
We’ll choose, but he CANNOT…”
(His father explained carefully)
“Have blemish or a spot.
The task that I’ll entrust to you—
To watch him, let him graze,
Protect, provide, and care for him
Throughout these next few days.”
The perfect lamb— selected for their
Passover that year,
The boy’s responsibility
Required he keep it near.
The next few days the lamb became
A gentle friend, his playmate.
He kept the lamb near while he slept
And close-by while he ate.
The two watched clouds drift ‘cross the sky.
They lay in pastures—green
And rested by a quiet hill
Near waters— still, serene.
Inseparable, the two became,
Content the time to spend,
Not shunned because of withered hand,
The lamb became his friend.
The boy wished things would never change—
This peacefulness— forever.
(Though course was plotted e’en before
God’s fellowship was severed.)
As days passed by, a somberness
Had settled o’er the lad.
The Passover required his lamb,
His countenance grew sad.
The sacrifice of his dear lamb,
The thought gave him a chill.
To take his mind off of his woe
They climbed a grassy hill.
Amazed— for from their vantage point
They saw— Place of the Skull,
Where three men hung on crosses,
Raised high, above them all.
The lamb saw what the boy could not,
A hushed angelic throng,
Who looked down from the shore of heav’n--
A force ten-thousand strong.
Watching, waiting, at-the-ready
In shocked and silenced pall.
To come and rescue from the cross,
If Christ should give the call.
Awed at the sight, the lamb drew near
The cross—a gripping pull.
The breeze whisked drops of falling blood,
It stained his soft white wool.
The lad’s eyes wide, he’d tried to grab
The lamb ‘fore he could stray.
A soldier barked with vulgar lips
“You get that beast away!”
Their eyes transfixed upon the cross,
They withdrew to a valley,
His tears fell on his bloodstained lamb.
They ‘waited death’s finale.
A thought— This Man, where are His friends?
Perhaps he’s just like me,
He gazed down at his withered hand
Tears made it hard to see.
Then darkness shrouded ‘round the scene,
Both were compelled to look,
Death shadowed hill and valley,
The ground in protest, shook.
The Man cried, “It is finished!”
He breathed, then bowed His head.
“Surely He’s the Son of God!”
The Roman soldier said.
The boy rushed home, informed his Dad
(His countenance was shaken)
About the Man upon the cross,
By God and friends forsaken.
And then told what the soldier said,
The ridicule, the blows.
“They left Him naked on the cross.
They gambled for his clothes.”
‘Twas like a beacon was turned on—
For our transgressions were His wounds—
Bruised for iniquities.
Isaiah told that He’s be like
A lamb, to slaughter led.
A Man of Sorrows, who knew grief,
And punished in our stead.
Then Father said, “There’s no need now
To sacrifice your lamb,
A new cov’nant— established,
Sealed by the Great I Am.”
The doom—dispelled from bloodstained lamb
And boy with withered hand,
Christ’s sacrifice placated God,
To save both lad and lamb.
For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed.
I Corinthians 5:7 NIV
Behold the lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.
John 1:29 KJV
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