A Stone Hill

On a distant stone hill I can see,

The hatred of mankind hanging on a tree.

Won't you please come close to His cross,

The scene, His life, His touch, seem as dross.

I will cherish the old rugged cross,

The wood, the iron, the wine, and blood,

Attack my soul, my sight, like a flood.

I want to run away and flee,

For in His visage, it ought to be me.

I will cling to the old rugged cross,

I know, I cry, He hangs in my place,

He is clothed in naught but disgrace.

His head, O bloodied head, bowed low,

From wounds, brokenness, life does flow.

I will cherish the old rugged cross,

His eyes, gentle, loving, upon me gaze,

My heartache, tears, cause my vision to haze.

The death post, again I come near,

For my need, now I see clear.

I will cling to the old rugged cross,

My soul by my hands, do grip His feet,

Soul rejoice! For salvation so sweet.

The post, the beam, that raised Him high,

Can, will, transport all beyond the sky.

G. Benard- I will cling- I will cherish

tg cpy 4-5-2012