Poetry

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The night was dark and still
Nature watched with bated breath;
Her Creator walk up the hill
In the wee hours of dawn…

No…the wind did not blow
Nor the birds dared to chirp;
The brook – oh! so softly did flow
As their Creator knelt down to pray…

Heavenly bodies bowed down their heads
In reverence, to their King of Kings;
Heart of man, where Satan treads
Sold Him – just for thirty pence!

His sweat that fell like drops of blood
The earth, received with folded hands;
Before His Father, He humbly stood
Surrendered to His divine plan…

“Father, the final hour has come
To glorify Thy Holy name
Unto Thy will, I wholly succumb
Thy will, not Mine, be always done”

A lamb willing to be slain
To shed His blood, for humanity;
He went down the hill of Gethsemane
To the cross awaiting Him…

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