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By: Jabulile Mpanza

Jabulile Mpanza

He carried the cross for me,

In order that I may be free.

He was spit on, insulted and cursed,

Still He soldiered on, refusing to burst,

All the while, walking to see his fate be.

He took nails in his hands,

Not numbed by any medicine or covered by bands.

He could have stayed home with the father you know,

Sat at His right hand and minded His own.

Yet He came down for a gift immeasurable in Rands.

 

I may feel shame for who I am,

Spend nights crying tears enough to fill a dam.

I come to Him heavy hearted and sad,

Yet he looks at me with a smile written, “I’m so glad”.

For He knows where I have been and now in His benevolence says,

“Get ready for a real jam!”

 

He was laid on a cross,

But all the while He kept His eyes on the boss.

Sure He felt the pain,

Yet knowing the promise, to die was gain.

He took the wipes so that I would know no loss.

 

As He endured on the cross, His arms were open,

When he exclaimed “Father forgive them for they know not what they do!”

His arms were open.

Till death, till the end,

His arms were open.

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