Poetry – Not The Nails

Poetry – Not The Nails

Not the Nails

 

Not the nails that held him to the cross,
Nor the soldiers or the large crowd.
He endured the pain and bore the loss.
His body scarred and precious head bowed,

Not the nails that held him to the wood,
This king of kings and servant of all.
A life of giving from child to manhood,
Would I hear and answer his call.

Not the nails that held him to the tree,
Nor to be held by earthly power.
It was love of the Father and for me,
That carried him through his final hour.

Not nails not sin but love prevailing,
The powers of hell could never hold.
His rising brings new life sustaining,
His love for us, more precious than gold.

J Pearson (Middlesbrough 1)

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