Poem: CHRIST THE KING

Preaching to the crowd.
He wept aloud.
Thou sons why doubt
for the saviour''comes not proud.

His heart melted in love.
His mind clothed like a dove,
so spake him'be wise and gentle as a dove.

He was born like the poor.
The master of rich lords.
But these things counted, he as mud.

For the poor,
receives him so rich,
for the rich
receives him so big.

In Jesus i surrender.

Gladly bore my pains.
So sadly he paid.
Gladly conceived death.
So gladly he arose.

But tonight on the peter's porch.
Slumbering and tired they Scot.
Sleeping while the saviour prayed.
So was he betrayed.

He didn't faint in pain.
As strokes lash his skin.
No brother, noon of his kin,
no disciple, noon to share his pain.

On the old cross he died.
Long ago he paid the price.
That me and you no more shall cry,

though dead and gone rose again, decayed but walking again,
for few see his love, few follow his light,
to them that shine bright.
Even then shall we pine in praise to him in decades of endless love.

By:
Beryl Rem