The silent night with thoughts that tempt
Draws me towards my failing sin.
Yet I, for endless anguished days,
Resist the cries from deep within
To fall.
Determination weakens now.
My strength is gone, my spirit fails.
With every beat of pounding heart
I hammer in those dreadful nails
Myself.
In desolate grief beside the tomb
I rend my broken, aching soul,
In desperation crying out
For One alone can make me whole,
Again.
And then the radiance of His gaze,
Which turns to flesh the hardest stones,
Touches me with exquisite love.
At last I hear His tender tones:
“Enough!”
Prostrate
I fall to worship Him,
Forgetting
all my tortured fears.
I
wash those precious bloodstained feet
With
reverent penitential tears.
“Grace
upon grace –
My
Lord!”
Lynda Scotson
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