a Good Friday poem

the finished work
©3-25-16 hannah mclean

“it is finished”
rose His sigh
Jesus the Christ
was crucified
oh sorrow at
man’s pure disgrace
when Father
turned away His face
even the sun
refused to shine
upon the blood
of the Divine

holy flesh
became a curse
the first made last
the last made first
the wages of
the sin of man
poured from His wounds
red rivers ran
that all may look
upon the cross
and touch the blood
and grieve the loss
to see the crown
the glory shine
from every thorn
in the Divine

oh death
where is your victory?
conquered by Him
upon the tree
that sinners destined
twice to die
may live with Him
the by and by

my friends, i plead
come stand beside
the Lord of Mercy’s
riven side
and let His blood
upon you flow
and wash your soul
as white as snow