by Mary Wacaster
Behold There The Shame
Oh, my Son, my Son.
Beholden there the shame
Man stripped you of honor, robe and name.
Yet they called you King, while at you curses hurled,
While you bore the sin that once cursed the world.
The power of your glory is covered by the dark,
As you fight the lonely battle for those who do not hark.
Wait upon the Father’s time, for effulgence of His love;
It will turn your darkened hour into His glory from above.
My Son, O my Son!
Still my quivering heart in the repose of your peace,
E’re the beating of my heart calls it’s time of cease.
As eons pass upon the earth, Satan’s fiery darts
Try again and again to conquer careless raging hearts.
Touch all the quivering hearts in the repose of your peace
E’re the beating of your children’s hearts calls its time of
cease.
