Friday, April 22, 2011

Three O’Clock

A Poem for Good Friday
By David Roth
© 25th March, 2005

Three o’clock, the bell did toll
Gathered crowd around, below
Hammer pounding, here it ring,
This day would salvation bring.

Crown of thorns upon his head,
Streams of life flow, crimson red,
Jeering crowd, some laugh, some cry,
As they raise Him to the sky,

Four o’clock; now cries the thief,
‘Save us, man, then I’ll believe,’
Prisoner on the other cross,
Declares Him Lord, accepts his loss.

Lifts his voice, speaks to the man,
Tells of Heaven’s glory plan,
Seeks the dying prisoner’s eyes,
‘Today, we’ll be in paradise’

Five o’clock, the guards cast lots,
Who will take the winner’s pot,
Dice are tossed, the runes unfold,
Winner takes the Savior’s robe.

Game is over, now they stand,
Darkness spreads across the land,
Three men writhe in searing pain,
Clouds roll, laden, dark with rain.

Six o’clock, a voice is heard,
Listen, tarry to His Word,
‘Forgive them’ is his dying cry,
Looking upward to the sky,

‘It is finished,’ He proclaims,
Man’s redemption He became,
Lightning strike and thunder roll,
Rain pours while sin takes its toll.

Three o’clock the end would start,
Life for Life and heart for heart,
Man of Sorrow, God’s own Son,
God Incarnate, Holy One,

Bringer of redemption’s plan,
Son of God, to sons of man.
Three days hence to greet the dawn,
Vanquished death!  New life begun!
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