| Take Me Back to Mount Calvary by Vicki Wood |
|
Lord, take me back To Mount Calvary, Where they nailed you To the old rugged cross. That's where you died, To set everyone's soul free. You saved all, and paid the price, So we wouldn't be lost. I want to touch The cherished ground Where your precious blood So freely fell. Help me follow you, So I will be heaven bound. For, with you, all things are possible And I will not go to hell. Take me back, so I can sit there And feel your presence. Let me feel you touch me, In every sense of the word. I can't imagine being there, Watching you slip away In such a great reverence. Then you ask, "Father, Why have you forsaken me?" I wish I could've heard ... To watch the clouds darken So eerily in the sky. To see the pain and agony Throughout your body and face. Your place in heaven Is my place too, So beautiful and sanctified. You lift your head and your words. You say, "It is finished," And died with a precious grace. Joseph asked Pilate for your body, When they took you down. He took your limp body And wrapped it in linen That was so very clean. The crowd was so quiet And awe struck; No one said a word, Not even a sound. They took you to the tomb, Placed you on the ledge, Closed the tomb; Where you were sealed And never to be seen. I wish I could've been there, Lord, To see the stone rolled back And you weren't there ... To see the angel, The now empty tomb And limp cloth that you Were enshrouded ... To feel the elation by question, "If he's not here, then, do you know where?" For, that day was so Beautiful and so bright. It was so very unclouded. Lord, the elation your mother, Mary, must have felt in her heart To turn around to see Her precious son's face; The one who died on the cross ... To know he is still here Forever and he shall Never, never, part. She gained her son back And death has a terrible loss. Lord, take me back To Mount calvary Where your life ended And mine began. I want to feel Your precious touch And to know I have A sanctified re-birth. When you open your arms And tell me, "Come, my child," I will come and take your hand. Now, here, in our last days, To hear you say, "It is finished," To have you come back To us, here, on earth. |
| © 2002 Vicki Wood |
| If you have any sort of concern or worry, please look at our Problem Page. | |
| The Poem Library Contents Page A collection of poems submitted by you, our readers. |
SOON Online Magazine homepage The International Ezine with a difference. Problem page, true stories, interviews, "life and how to survive it" section, religion, science, news, your language and country pages, and much more. |
| Real stories of people who found true happiness. | VISITOR PAGE |