The wounds of Christ

>

THE WOUNDS OF CHRIST

Rivers of mercy, poured on a hurting world,

Flowed from His riven side,

The gaping wound that drained His life,

Gives us a place to hide.

I hide within the cleaven Rock,

Who gave His life for me;

As each one takes that for themselves,

The more His love we’ll see.

The hands that bore those cruel spikes,

Reached out to all who strayed;

The debts we gain, with our daily sin;

He has already paid.

The feet they pierced, to keep Him still,

Still walk throughout the land,

For where man goes to show God’s love,

Our Lord, with him, will stand.

Man cannot stay those restless feet,

Nor still the hands of love,

While still the faithful turn to Him,

And heed the Lord above.

His sacred brow, it wore a crown,

Of royalty and pain,

He wore it that His people might,

Their link with God regain.

The wounds of Christ were cruel,

Yet we inflict them still,

Each time we turn aside from Him,

And choose to do our will.

The wounds of Christ were chosen,

By His obedient heart,

He saw the Father’s love for us,

And chose to do His part.

The wounds of Christ can bless us,

If we choose to see His care;

Come lay our lives before His Cross;

And chose to leave them there.

The wounds of Christ can heal us,

From every form of ill,

If we allow His Spirit,

Our lives to cleanse and fill.

The wounds of Christ would never,

Be wasted nor in vain,

If yours were the only spirit,

To rejoin with God again.

© Jan-Feb. ‘01