That Final Hour
In the Garden he labored,
Sweat dripped onto the ground.
So quiet was the eve,
A gentle breeze, the only sound.
... View MoreThat Final Hour
In the Garden he labored,
Sweat dripped onto the ground.
So quiet was the eve,
A gentle breeze, the only sound.
Jesus prayed unto his Father,
Can this cup pass from me?
Yet, knowing already the answer,
His destiny, upon a tree.
His disciples asked he to pray with him,
Knowing already what laid ahead.
Each time he found them fast asleep,
Not one could raise his head.
In the distance torches flickered,
The devil on the prowl.
The betrayer led his army,
A kiss the viper's foul.
The messiah arrested,
All with him in fear fled.
His fate already decided,
Judgment was death bled.
Beaten, bruised, heckled,
A burden only he could bear.
Dragging the cross throughout the streets,
The disciples in anguish, could only glare.
Hands and feet nailed to the cross,
The world's sin he bore alone.
Breaking the hold death held on man,
Through him faith would atone.
He alone worthy of life,
Oh death where is thy sting?
Taking away the keys of strife,
In Glory, angelic voices sing.
The stone found rolled away,
Word began to spread.
His body not discovered,
He rose just like he said.
