Wishing and Worshipping

And how I wish there had been some other way.        
That the gentle face of the loving Son of God
could have been spared the beard-ripping spite of that day;
that His humble head need not have endured the rod.
And how I wish they had stayed their vicious hand;
that holy mercy could have been satisfied
without the crown of thorns, and the violent band
filled with sickening mirth at the way He died.
And how I wish that the hammer and the nails
had never been forged; that no axe had felled the tree.
And how I wish that the dusty Calvary trails
need not have been stained with the blood He shed for me.
And did they have to mock and despise Him so?
How I wish forgiveness could have been bought without
the shame and abuse He was willing to undergo,
the humiliating taunts, the jeering shout.
And how I worship Him with a grateful heart.
And what can I say in response to a love like this?
I welcome Him in my secret garden apart,
not with a traitor’s, but a lover’s kiss.


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