Poetry: For Me

Cynthia Doyle, New Brunswick

There I see Him bruised and bleeding,
Suffering in my stead is He.
Christ, the precious sinless Saviour
See Him hanging on the tree.

Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise Him,
He hath put His own to grief.
There His soul was made an offering
For our sin and our relief

How could God, His God, forsake Him?
All our sins on Jesus lay?
How could Christ bear all our burden
Love unbound, our debt to pay?

See His blessed body taken,
Laid alone in that cold grave.
Three sad days creation waited
Then He rose with power to save.

Blessed hope! Our Saviour risen
All who trust Him can be free,
Free from sin and death and sorrow.
The Lamb was slain to make us free.

Now He sits in heaven yonder
At His Father’s own right hand.
Now He intercedes for sinners
Over in that glorious land.

Some day soon He’ll come in glory
To receive us to our Home.
Ever with our Saviour dwelling,
Even so Lord Jesus come!