My fingers, placed within, His palm,
Traced, the ugly, jagged scars,
Etched, deep within, the flesh;
Brought into view, an image fresh
Of Calvary, and spiked nails -
As blow on blow, He did not fail.
The wounds, made so long ago.
Caused my bitter tears, to flow;
I traced, again, the ugly scars,
And in His presence, I was calm.
My fingers moved, like reading Braille,
My blindness, saw the ugly scars
Of nail prints, placed there, by friends;
Could I restore, or make amends.
Was I classed, as friend or foe.
O love, that will not let me go,
And let me h ear the glad refrain;
That scars were used, to remove, the stain.
So bind me closer, through the scars,
O boundless love, that did not fail.
My fingers touched, within my palms,
I realized, I had no scars -
None visible, that eye could see,
Tho I searched, in van, through Eternity.
My scars, were etched, with my heart,
Harbored and nourished from the start;
On the Cross He cried, Father forgive,
I am dying that you might live,
Thankful now, for every scar,
My healing, came through, Gilead's balm.
Copyright owned by the
Wallace and Morehead
families.
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~ ~ April 6, 2003 ~ ~