The Crimson Christ
Behold the Man, the Son of God,
The Bread of Life and more,
With tortured face now marked with blood
That no man could ignore...
How then could He be called a king
Once Rome had done its worst?
How then could He do anything
When He stood there still cursed?
The crowd cried out to crucify,
No mercy left within,
As if they had no decency
And hearts were stained by sin...
Who was this man who witnessed such?
Jesus of Nazareth...
He lived for those He loved so much,
Prepared to face His death...
The crimson Christ they could not bear,
His miracles seemed gone,
No angels flying anywhere,
No hope to build upon...
No army fighting for His cause,
No-one to die for Him,
No-one to change their breaking laws,
While He stood silent, grim...
The Roman Empire gave no thought
That Israel's God was real,
To them, the Saviour's merely sport,
Fresh blood they could reveal...
So blood outpoured from back and face,
The crimson Christ was scourged,
Rejected by the human race,
God's Son for whom they searched...
Yet even on the Cross of Christ,
He prayed God would forgive...
Blood dripping still, He realised
That soon, He, too, would live...
His resurrection day arrived,
Good News is taught worldwide,
Such that we know that He survived,
Just as He prophesied...
And thus, today, through satellite
And television shows,
The Gospel channels bring God's light
So that the public knows...
In Jesus' Name, come miracles,
Blessed is the soul that Jesus calls
To live the Saviour's way...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2013.
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Comments about this poem (The Crimson Christ by Denis Martindale )
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