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

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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