Poetry

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Standing at the foot of the Cross
She gazed up at her son's face;
Painful agony deep in His eyes
Caused tears streaming down her face.

Tiny arms that once embraced her
Were now pierced by iron nail;
Her mother's heart, had raging within her
A wild and stormy gale.

His head that once nestled her bosom
Now bore a crown of thorns;
She watched the people whom He'd healed
Passing by, mocking with scorn.

Her hands that reached out to caress His feet
Turned crimson with His holy blood;
That flowed freely down, at Calvary-
For you and me, it was shed.

"My son! my son!" her heart whimpered
"You never did belong to me;
I know you came for a greater cause
To set this world, from bondage, free."

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