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by Ronald Ferguson

Blessed wounds of the Saviour
In His hands, His feet and brow,
Speak to me of love's endurance.
And tell how much I love Him now.

Hands that made the universe;
Touched the blind, the lame and deaf -
Tireless hands that worked salvation,
Worked for others and not for self.

Roughly-fashioned iron spikes,
Centred through His palms were nailed;
Displayed Him naked to the world,
For mankind's sins He was impaled.

* * * * * *

Feet that spanned the universe,
Walked in gentle steps, Earth's ground.
Washed by Mary in devotion;
Carried Him where sinners were bound.

Roman soldiers drove a spike -
Pierced His feet and anchored Him.
Knew nothing of the reason why.
Judgment and sins filled to the brim.

* * * * * *

Glory of the universe;
On His brow that glory shines.
Perfumed oil that brow anointed;
Sweetness cascaded down in lines.

Flexible lengths were woven,
By soldiers of coarse, sharp thorn.
Man's diadem upon His brow -
Mockery! As king they adorn.

* * * * * *

Israel will ask Him one day,
Of the wounds in His hands and feet.
"Received in the house of My friends,
When all they showed Me was conceit."

Face and form were marred for me.
Bore my sins upon the tree.
E'en if His eyes He'd given for me,
I'd love Him for eternity.

Metre = 7-7-8-8 A-B-C-B Last stanza A-A-A-A

This poem is copyright though I am happy for it to be used in Christian ministry. Please ask/tell me so I know where it is being used.

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Click Here to contact Ronald Ferguson to request permission to use this poem.