Poetry

        The son upon the altar laid.

        The hand upraised, with knife, now staid. 

         In bramble bush a ram espied.

         Withhold thy hand," the angel cried.              

         "My son, my son, our God hath set you free."                   

                   

          The Son upon the cross to die.             

           No bramble bush, no ram hard by.      

           No angel voice to stay the hand.

           An anguished cry went through the land:           

           "My God, my God, hast thou forsaken me?"                  

                     

            Eternal God upon the cross.

            To us it seemed to be but loss.

            What did we know of Thy great plan?

            Thy sacrifice to rescue man.

            "My God, my God, have we forsaken Thee?"

                 

            With Father One ere time began.

             Now torn apart by sin of man.

             Travail of soul that naught can hide.

             Eternal justice satisfied.

             "My Lord, my Lord, you did it all for me."

                                                Neva Andrews

 

                         

Myriads of tiny diamonds,

Sparkling in the snow

Bushes dressed in wedding gowns

Set my heart aglow.

                                       Neva Andrews     2009

 

 

 

 

                   

                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                                              

 

If you have written a poem you would like displayed on  this page, send it to neva@lpbroadband.net and put Neva's Poetry Page in the subject line. Neva will decide whether to include it.