Echoes

I was there in the garden of Gethsamne
As he wrestled
While they slept
The evening chill, unnoticed
As the blood drop sweats

In essence I was born that night
Concieved as he conceded
The cup of suffering remains
Though the Son of God pleaded

And I was there when the angels came
And ministered to the lamb
And in a sense, I think I knew
Though I never knew the man

Its echoes they reach me still
Down through history
That I was there in essence
That this was done for me

I cannot read of Christ
Or how he hung upon the tree
Without the thought
That I was there
Or that you paid for me

As my sins were the nails
That clawed through flesh to wood
And held you there
Held you for bad and good

Held you there
Like a man hanging from a cliff
By a cotton thread
Oh

Any moment you could have come down
And blackened out the sun
And justly let your kingdom come
And have blown us all to Kingdom come

But that too is an echo
And I will be there
On the terrible day
On the great and terrible day




M Joseph Burt (14.06.2006)