The Tree
Lord, didst Thou die upon a tree,
enduring pain and agony,
to save this wretched world below,
to save Thy precious, wand’ring sheep?
Eternal light and endless joy,
amazing grace sublimely sweet –
were these the objects of Thy sight
as nails pierced hands and wounded feet?
“The King of Jews!” they didst proclaim,
a crown of thorns upon Thy brow;
they tore Thy flesh, yet still Thou cried,
“Forgive them, Lord, they do not know!”
Oh, Gracious God, oh Spotless Lamb,
forgive this wretched, wayward soul!
Restore unto me a tender heart,
unbroken – Father, make me whole!
Look at Me
III
Look at me.
I am nothing.
A hollow shell
of something,
someone;
a creature
cursed
for all eternity
to live as
dead,
for death has
claimed my
soul.
