It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
Crimson streaming
From His crown
Hands,
Side,
Feet,
Onto my head,
Flowing down my face,
Over my body,
Covering my feet,
Making me
whiter than snow.
It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
It’s agony.
He calls for His Father,
Writhes, gasps.
Oh, the weighty burden
Of sin upon the Sinless One,
The world’s,
Mine,
Yours.
Agony,
Ushering the covenant of salvation -
The world’s,
Mine,
Yours.
It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
It’s finished.
They take Him down
From the terrible Cross.
Hastily,
They place Him in the tomb.
Securely,
They seal the rolling stone.
They guard His grave
In awesome,
Tremulous,
Expectant
Stillness.
It’s not a pretty sight -
It’s beautiful.
His Body, gone.
Gone!
With power
In one resplendent moment -
Seal unsealed,
Stone rolled,
Earth jolted on its
axis.
Angels appeared, hallowing -
Alleluia! Alleluia!
He is risen!
We live
Because
He lives.
It
is beautiful.
Beautiful.
Maude Carolan
The first draft of this poem was written in the dark, several years ago, during a Marty Goetz concert at the Beth Israel Worship Center. He was singing "Love of God." As he sang the words..."Can you see...on that tree...the love of God?" I was immediately inspired to rummage for a piece of paper and scribble the words of what would become this poem of praise.
No comments:
Post a Comment