This is one of my favourite poems that speak of the holiness of God and His greatness. We are nothing before Him yet His love saves us. All we need to do is admit that we need His help and without Him it is impossible to attain Heaven.
Who hangs on the court; not a throne
Who looks at me standing "below the Cross"
Ruddy drops trickle from His head on thorns
I feel growing smaller and smaller
Melting, as I approach the altar
And the space around me growing bigger and higher
Looming like a balloon being blown.
I have to look up, throwing my head back
Until my skull touches my cord
To meet the eyes that takes in all
To see the face that shines on its own accord
And He who is high up
Looks at me standing "below the Cross"
And at first I cannot see
The emotions that flicker across His deep eyes.
The white and Easter lilies
Are so big and yet so beautiful
As they sit in multitudes
Adorning the house of the most merciful
I feel so minute; I can enter
Through their beautiful mouths
And sliding through their stems
Stain myself from head to toe.
The lamps and the colourful tapers
Burn, burn... and flicker
Yet never blow off but burn
And neither grow weaker
They feel so warm and so pure
I wish to hug them
But they are so high up
And I am so minuscule.
And everything seems to glow
And correspond; as if talking of me
I feel everything gazing wide eyed
I want to but cannot flee
They pin me with their gaze
Where I stand "below the Cross"
And I look above, from where
My redemption is looking down at me.
I just look and yet I feel
Becoming empty of all troubles and cares
And I can feel the warmth and
Fragrance; carried by the airs
He sits high up and knows all
And gives before we ask
And comes to know what I want to tell
Even before I talk.
He puts His Spirit into me
Through His penetrating eyes
And I feel His Spirit flowing in my veins
A feeling that's so nice.
Now the surroundings do not pin me
But I want to be pinned again:
What was it; a tinge of joy?
I don't know. Or was it a tinge of pain.
O call me a brute or uncouth
I won't mind whatever you'll call
I am happy He was cruxified
'Cause that gave evil its fall.
His death gave me a new life
And I know by His death alone
That He loves me so much.
What if the world mocks, I shall never moan.
He gave me a life not to while away in tears
But to fill it with sweet smiles
And how can I dare to defy
When He can see across miles.
He gave me a life to lead in good faith
Can I dare to profane?
Can I dare to let His blood, flow away in vain?
The highest peak, in His courts
Melt into a grain of sand;
Then how can a petty being
With wrongs dare to stand!
The vast ocean seem a drop
That the earth shall sooner suck
How can an evil doer dare to stand
Who is deep down in the muck!
Everything in His holy courts
Will make you repent and cry
And the One who died for you shall hear you
And will never get awry.
He shall take away the burden
That makes you stoop and curse
And carry it in His own shoulders
As He carried the Cross.
Years by years pass away
I grow older and older
But when I enter His royal court
I feel myself the same as ever.
I feel I am still new
Standing below the Saviour who was cruxified
I feel I am just as pure
As in the name of Christ, when I was baptised.
Poetry by Amy Valentina
Read 515 times
Written on 2009-07-21 at 09:17
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Below the Cross
As I enter the empty courts of the KingWho hangs on the court; not a throne
Who looks at me standing "below the Cross"
Ruddy drops trickle from His head on thorns
I feel growing smaller and smaller
Melting, as I approach the altar
And the space around me growing bigger and higher
Looming like a balloon being blown.
I have to look up, throwing my head back
Until my skull touches my cord
To meet the eyes that takes in all
To see the face that shines on its own accord
And He who is high up
Looks at me standing "below the Cross"
And at first I cannot see
The emotions that flicker across His deep eyes.
The white and Easter lilies
Are so big and yet so beautiful
As they sit in multitudes
Adorning the house of the most merciful
I feel so minute; I can enter
Through their beautiful mouths
And sliding through their stems
Stain myself from head to toe.
The lamps and the colourful tapers
Burn, burn... and flicker
Yet never blow off but burn
And neither grow weaker
They feel so warm and so pure
I wish to hug them
But they are so high up
And I am so minuscule.
And everything seems to glow
And correspond; as if talking of me
I feel everything gazing wide eyed
I want to but cannot flee
They pin me with their gaze
Where I stand "below the Cross"
And I look above, from where
My redemption is looking down at me.
I just look and yet I feel
Becoming empty of all troubles and cares
And I can feel the warmth and
Fragrance; carried by the airs
He sits high up and knows all
And gives before we ask
And comes to know what I want to tell
Even before I talk.
He puts His Spirit into me
Through His penetrating eyes
And I feel His Spirit flowing in my veins
A feeling that's so nice.
Now the surroundings do not pin me
But I want to be pinned again:
What was it; a tinge of joy?
I don't know. Or was it a tinge of pain.
O call me a brute or uncouth
I won't mind whatever you'll call
I am happy He was cruxified
'Cause that gave evil its fall.
His death gave me a new life
And I know by His death alone
That He loves me so much.
What if the world mocks, I shall never moan.
He gave me a life not to while away in tears
But to fill it with sweet smiles
And how can I dare to defy
When He can see across miles.
He gave me a life to lead in good faith
Can I dare to profane?
Can I dare to let His blood, flow away in vain?
The highest peak, in His courts
Melt into a grain of sand;
Then how can a petty being
With wrongs dare to stand!
The vast ocean seem a drop
That the earth shall sooner suck
How can an evil doer dare to stand
Who is deep down in the muck!
Everything in His holy courts
Will make you repent and cry
And the One who died for you shall hear you
And will never get awry.
He shall take away the burden
That makes you stoop and curse
And carry it in His own shoulders
As He carried the Cross.
Years by years pass away
I grow older and older
But when I enter His royal court
I feel myself the same as ever.
I feel I am still new
Standing below the Saviour who was cruxified
I feel I am just as pure
As in the name of Christ, when I was baptised.
Poetry by Amy Valentina
Read 515 times
Written on 2009-07-21 at 09:17
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