Walkin on Air

Cross of Ages

The good ole cross, we've heard it a lot,
the Blood of Christ that cleanses our sin:
but who is the contrite to give it a thought
by opening their heart and let Jesus in?

Burdened with pride and self-righteous excuses,
make-believe had become a lifestyle for me:
leapfrogging lies to justify abuses,
the obvious truth I refused to see.

Blind as a bat radar-steered thru delusion,
suddenly I crashed on fear in the night;
God's word revealed the obvious conclusion
to rejecting his mercy and Lovelight!

So up on the cross I climbed in penance
and died to myself sharing the Lord's grief;
knowing God would strike evil with vengeance,
it was clear that I am the contrite thief!


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Cross of Ages

45,049 Poems Read

Sponsors