Poetry

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Christ my passion.

My passion is sore vexed
Every attraction and distraction annexed
Her fury is a wasteful pestilence
And her intent is violence.

Even if suitors beg her affection
My passion shall show no compassion
Until like gold purified
My soul sanctified.

When my disobedience be gone
And my obedience done
Then shall righteousness be my frock
And Holiness my cloak

My passion is a blazing thermo
Like a consuming inferno
Her fiery heat scorches the air
The sound of her sparks cracks the ear


My passion burns up my impurities
Blotting out my iniquities
She dries up my transgressions…
Nullifying the accusations

Leaving in its wake a heart contrite
And a spirit at respite
Until naught but ashes of righteousness
… And residues of holiness

When Christ my passion.

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