The Contest

Sharp was the blow

The hammer let go.

Deep were the wounds, and red.

Soft was the sigh,

The Savior’s reply,

“All was for love,” he said.

Black was the day

They did him away.

Light hid her face for shame.

Bright were the trails

That flowed from the nails.

Gladly Love bore the blame.

Cruel the tongues

That mocked as he hung;

Laughing to bruise his soul.

Mercy the word

His enemies heard.

Love prayed to make them whole.

Dead was the King;

A castaway thing,

Broken within the grave.

Strong he arose,

Unbeat by his foes.

Love won the power to save.

Written by Dennis Evans, 1997