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The Day He Wore My Crown by Patricia Joan Polhans He went into the Garden To pray as he'd done before Stood there in Gethsemany. As evil crouched at his door. Thoughts filled his weakened mind Whatever could Jesus do To escape the dreadful curse Intended for this Jew? His wet hands shook profusely, His knees trembled in fear He knew nothing he could do, "Xcept fall to his knees in prayer. He cried out, "Have mercy Upon me, oh, precious Lord You are my heav'nly Father Need you more than e'er before." He groaned 'n' travailed in labor There before his Father, God. In agony, his tears flowed His flesh did not want this job. Sweat drops were extensive, Perspiring from ev'ry pore. The drops had become as blood Portraying major stress for sure! Oh, Heavenly Father, please Let this cup pass 'way from me! Nevertheless, not my will I submit now unto thee. His thoughts had become many, How to retreat from the task That now lieth before him As he lay prostrate in the grass. His heart was pouring forth All the pain he felt inside. He just had one small question, "Tell me, my Father…why?" His gown was saturated From his own perspiration How could his heart reject This chosen generation? He wrestled with his flesh Shaking and tremb'ling in fear For the crown that lay before him None would even dare to wear. Alas all was quieted, His face lie buried in the dust. Compassion overwhelmed him He, now, knew that he must. He picked up the twisted crown, Plunged it deep into his head. And as he did, his tremb'ling hands Were all stained with crimson red. I ne'er shall forget that day His weakened body lay down The day he gave his life for me, The day he wore my crown! |
Please contact Patricia Joan Polhans at "polhanspatricia@yahoo.com" to request permission to use this poem.