Poetry

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Precious

Precious was the hand
that touched a blind man's eyes.
His velvet touch was gentle
as He pressed against the lids.
I can't believe these gentle hands
were by some despised.
And then by nails were torn and crushed
against a bar of wood so rough,
those precious hands of God.

Precious were the feet
that walked upon the waves.
His step was sure and strong
as He crossed the angry sea.
I can't believe those steady feet
were cursed by mortal men.
And then by nails were ripped and shred
and stained the wood beneath them red,
those precious feet of God.

Precious was the heart
that loved a people lost.
His passion was so great
that it led Him to a cross.
I can't believe that loving heart
was rejected and reviled.
And by a spearhead it was pierced
with an upward thrust so hard and fierce,
that precious heart of God.

Precious was the Gift
that the Father gave to man.
No other could have done
what the Son came to complete.
I can't believe that still today
this Gift is spurned and turned away.
Though it cost Him heart and feet and hands,
He paid the price of sin's demands,
That precious gift of God.

Precious is the Priest
Who stands by Heaven's throne,
Who intercedes for us
Though we don't deserve to live.
I can believe He rose again
To be my Lord, to be my Friend.
He's pledged to call me to His side
Where one day soon I will reside
With the Precious Lamb of God.

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