Towards the cross I crawl.
I'm bent by familiar sins and demons that know me by name.
To salvation my bloody steps trudge.
An apparition of hope created, it lays clear before me.
Seldom have fewer men plied this crooked path.
Many I count have abandoned when it waxed cold.
I push on, my eyes cast on the tree.
The demons weigh more now, fearing i reached my savior.
With an echoing sigh, I crumble.
Melancholy sets its prints on me, pressing me closer to the dust.
All He needed was to see me try.
As I crumble, He sets bright feet to dusty ground.
Like a spark, He catches me as I fall.
No demons beset me now, my Saviour holds me sure.
Under His arms, His Glory covers like fronds of palm.
I feel so light, lithe.
The guilt, the pain; that guile that maim.
As we approach the Cross, I see them depart.
A picture of hope created, now I become Him.
The Lamb, slain.