The weeping of Lord Jesus on his Cross

The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
Make a space where new works may be born
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross

The more the loss, the  more space  dispossessed,
The more may be the harvest of the corn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The creative must most freely their wish toss
Though pain like this is hard to make  welcome
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross~

In the soul, the  sharp thorn is  embraced
God himself from poor hearts  has been torn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The good, the holy, even love’s defaced
As we wander in the wastelands all forlorn,
Feel the death of Jesus on his Cross

Absolute,we lose our wealth and home.
In spaces deep as hell new life  is born
By the  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
The weeping of Lord Jesus on his Cross

 

 

 

 

 

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