The Door of the Cross

Upon the cross they hung Him from,
And fixed Him there, to succumb,
They pounded nails to hold Him fast,
His limbs outstretched, while His agony last.

There He hung, His hands unfree,
In pain for us, upon that tree...

Thus suffered Jesus the Christ,
Who upon the wood was sacrificed;
The carpenter's son of time afore,
From its wood
                   He now made a door.
                     
           ―The portal of salvation,
              And open to every nation!       
              The door of holy Grace,
              An entry to the holy place!

The horizontal limbs, like a lintel o'er,
And the vertical holding His torso before:
To the stipes upright, his legs were nailed:
Les jambe in French, were there impaled.

The angel of death would pass them by
And leave untouched the Hebrew first born;
But Egypt's born, these first would die --
And for their children, would Egypt mourn.

The Blood on the lintel of the Cross of Christ,
Was spilt when He was sacrificed!
His Blood there left is a sign on the Cross,
Of a pass over to eternal life!
                                      
                                                   —John Riedell

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