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The Door of the Cross

Upon the cross they hung Him from,
They fixed Him there, to there succumb;
The
pounded nails, they held Him fast.
In a way the
y're nails to a door e'erlast.

There He hung, His hands unfree
To suffer for us upon that tree...

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

Imagine how they suspended Him,
Like a carcass hanging from trunk and limb;
And imagine the standing timber, now cleft,
To make doorposts, both right and left.

To make a door of holy Grace,
An entryway to holy place!

See the Victim passing through the portal,
To bestow on us, a life immortal:
His bleeding Body, so long and lank
--And for suff'ring so, we need Him thank.

It harkens back to Testament Old
When blood was sprinkled on lintel of yore,
Stay inside the Israelites were told:
Till morning come, leave not before.

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's a sign upon His Cross...
To pass over
a sad eternal loss!

                                      
                                 ---John Riedell

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Site Last Updated on 03/26/17