Poetry

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It pleased Grace to bruise You,
   Your body given for sin.
The lie objects to Who is true
   for as many as those coming in.
For Heaven You were Hell's fodder
   to raise us up from the grave.
It's Your joy to be our Brother,
   we, who have been saved.

Grace is not fair to the One Who gives it,
   righteousness for so many wicked.
Yet, this is the heart of Your spirit:
   to take us out of our sick bed.

Then after You give, You give much more;
   to us, You give us Yourself!
For golden faith from impure ore,
   You offer Yourself as help.
You promise us continuous presence
   as we take the glory ride.
All we need do, in simple essence,
   is just to simply abide.

Hardship becomes vessels of purpose
   where we can count the joy.
To others it's hell on the surface;
   we're simply Satan's toy.
Just heed the Son, hear the Word;
   that which keeps you from sin.
We can know our prayers are heard;
   His court we boldly come in.

There is no end at the end of this life;
   Death is at His bidding.
So when we're cut by the endless knife
   Hope is in this One thing:
If You are the love of our life
   we will see Your face.
A worthy end for all this strife,
   to see our Victim of Grace.

© Bob Barra, 9-14-2012

“Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise Him;
He has put Him to grief.
When You make His soul an offering for sin,
He shall see His seed, He shall prolong is days,
And the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in His hand.” ~ Isaiah 53:10

“For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” ~ 2 Corinthians 5:21

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