Tuesday, July 28, 2009

The Olive Tree

He came into my garden sweet
A look of sorrow in his eyes.
He slowly walked beneath my limbs
Fell to the ground, I heard his cries.

Pain and sorrow were infinite
Far beyond what man could bear.
I tried to help but was in vain
My shade was all that I could share.

I saw the angel come to him
To strengthen Fathers only son.
Three times he asked, let this cup pass
But not my will, but thine be done.

As olives in the press make oil
Our Savior's blood dropped to the ground.
My leaves soaked up his precious blood
I stood in awe without a sound.

Now traitors enter at my gates
To take my maker, clean and pure.
A kiss was placed upon his cheek
A sign to those that he was sure.

Mocked and scorned by his own kind
He stood in majesty divine.
“For this purpose I did come
To purchase you and make you mine.”

“Father, Father where art thou?
My work on earth is now complete.”
His pain is swallowed up in joy
For death would suffer great defeat.

I'll always hold close to my heart
That day he knelt beneath my bough.
He spilled his blood for all that day
I won't forget, that is my vow.

No comments:

Post a Comment