THE BEGOTTEN SON

An empty Cross stands starkly still,
Silhouettes the crimson sky;
Cruelly held the arms of her dear Lord,
Today...until He died.

Three nails that pierced hands and feet,
Lay there on dusty ground;
Near-by...quite crushed and broken,
Are remnants of thorny crown.

Heard mournful cry of a Roman soldier,
He clutched the purple cloak;
Certainly this was a righteous Man,
Of whom they jeered and joked.

In the distance are sorrowful wailings,
As they lay Him in the tomb;
With no time for burial preparations,
The sun will be setting soon.

She knelt there at a blood-stained Cross,
Remembered a promise He had given;
His battle over Death...Victoriously Won,
A glorious Love would be risen.

And to all of you who accept The Lord,
In all the centuries to come;
Your salvation has been paid in full;
By Father Love's begotten Son.