Gethsemane (a poem)

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The image of a cross I see
in the tear of Him who would die for me,
a tear, or is it blood, I cannot tell.
Underneath the stars is He,
fallen in such agony,
then His eyes meet mine.
Could it be He is telling me
that He is going to Calvary for me?
I glimpse again the tear
and am surprised to hear
a voice that sounds like mine.
I hear the lies that once I told,
and feel the fears of long ago,
they seem so near to this man’s tear.
But how could I expect to know
the depth, the passion of His soul
as lies and fears would soon be His alone.
Through vision blurred I understood
forgiveness like I never would
had I not been there in the garden.
He rose and stared at a distant cloud,
and saw a trial, a death, a shroud;
I cried aloud! Could it be this was for me?
He who knew no sin, my cross would bear?
He who never lied, a crown of thorns would wear?
The Man became a Lamb of sacrifice for me?
Heaven and Hell mixed with the blood and sweat.
Judgment and mercy in Jesus met.
Oh, the joy and fear of that precious tear!


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