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This bitter cup fate serves now, I must drink.

Yet fine wine from innumerable kegs

would not have quenched the flame of mounting fear

that seared my soul down to its lowest dregs.

One would not guess, not speculate, nor think

(with only flesh's reason) that, right here,

comfort could be received.  My Lord is dead

between us; but, before succumbing, said

that I shall be with Him in Paradise

today.  Even in such torment, He heard

the helpless need within my raw, hoarse plea.

And pleas for mercy He never despised

not even in this worst tortured devised.

He still attended to my plaintive cry's

repentence, and despite deep agony,

He pulled Himself up just to speak to me---

to say the promise sealed by His own Word.

Each moment left in this body's duration

brings even more writhing excruciation.

The sun, restored, now hovers in the west.

Soon (but not too soon) comes the Sabbath rest.

The Roman soldiers rise to break my legs,

with some stray board.  Unable to draw breath,

after that, I will sink to rightful death.

But my redeemed soul, saved and born again,

will enter that fine garden, where no sin

can follow me.  Not even a temptation

can spoil, or stall, that life's eternity.

Starward

[jlc]