The holy child, who sweetly slept,
grew up and like a sinner wept
for men, who cruelly caused him grief;
he suffered from their unbelief!
This long-lost king, of truth, was made
to wear upon his brow, like braid,
a thorn crown, not as monarch proud;
His bloodstained robe was dead man's shroud!
This Lord of everlasting life,
whose touch could stem the streams of strife,
could not be praised by them enough:
(those saints, He'd made of sterner stuff.)
Their long-lost friend, this Prince of Peace,
who'd made the stormy oceans cease
and stepped upon the raging wave;
He walked alive from gloomy grave!
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 15th, 2021 01:59
- Comment from author about the poem: "be not faithless, but believing..."
- Category: Religion
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet
Offline)
Comments2
Kevin,
‘Neither faithless,
nor non-believer…’
Thank you for sharing your pen.
Laura🌻
Some need proof to believe. Others believe just because they can feel it in their heart. Wonderfully written Kevin. 👍
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