Upon
the Cross of Jesus,
my
eyes at times can see,
the
dying form of the One,
who
suffered there for me.
He
walked the path of Calvary,
a
crown of thorns upon His head.
Nails
driven in His hands and feet,
Oh,
how He suffered and bled.
To
save us from our sins,
He
died for you and me.
Upon
a wooden cross,
made
from a Dogwood tree.
On
the third day He arose
and
went to Heaven above,
with
the promise He’ll return,
and
show us God is love.
~Author~
Ruth
Ann Mahaffey
©copyright
2004
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