Friday, At The Cross

Friday: At the Cross
Gloom, the grey dread dreary darkness
Settles starkly on God’s fair land.
Cold, the wind of death blows sadness
Through my heart, tis evil’s madness.
Dead, my Lord, evil’s plan.

His hands tacked tight, Oh mocking praise
His glazed eyes gaze to heaven’s void
While at his feel the jester’s raise
Their chilling cheers; their rage filled craze.
All goodness, there, destroyed.

Saturday: Alive in hell
“There is no help for you in God,”
Within the subtle voice speaks clear.
Awake, fatigued, in darkness shod
Through night’s drear path alone, He trod,
With no friend to be near.

This anguish deeper enters in,
Piercing past all sense and reason.
The screeching laughter mocks within,
“You have no friend; you’re wrapped in sin.
Hell is your new season.”

Christ my Lord, to this has fallen.
Here into this hell He’s chosen
To descend in isolation.
Here the damned in sleepless calling
Moan their godless mock and cursing,
Forever here now frozen?

Christ the Lord to hell descended
Lost the radiance; holy glory.
We the guilty, we offended,
We who are on sin dependant
We, in shame, now tarry.

Descended here in godless hell
Into our drear when joys are few,
The savior comes, Emmanuel.
With loving whispers, now he tells,
“In hell I stand with you.”

Easter
Warm this morning sun is rising
Breaks the grip of cold and darkness
More than metaphor this rising
Life from death is now surprising
Jesus our forgiveness

A different dread now fills my mind
As at death’s door I stand alone
For coming to the grave I find
The door of death is opened wide
Nothing is in rhyme

(Written by Rev. Dr. James W. Kerr)

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