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Filthy rags
Hang from my bones,
In my gnarled fingers
To my neck
I clutch them tight,
And though I choke
I won't let go.
Now stands His cross
Stabbed deep in the earth
That calls my name.
Now pours His blood
Filling the hole
That wants my shame.
Now speaks His voice:
"Give those to me,
Wear mine the same."
And now they hang
Upon the nails of death
Far away from me,
And to my neck
I clutch instead
His robe of eternity.
Jeremiah 29:11
Isaiah 64:6
Romans 3:10
John 3:16
See this poem @ His Newsman |