| Death of Christ |
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| Poem written by Elder J.A. Rowell, Sr. | |
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The sound of a hammer, is coming to me, They are nailing my Saviour to Calvary's tree, With fear and in wonder, disciples behold, Fulfillment of things which the prophets foretold. The sun ceased his shining, as Jesus was slain, The veil of the temple, was severed in twain, The priests stood by mocking, his enemies gloat, While soldiers were gambling for Jesus' coat. The Angels of heaven, and God on His throne, Deserted the Saviour, he is dying alone, How great was the ransom, how dreadful the cost, The price of redemption, for his sheep which were lost. The sound of the hammer, still falls on our ears, The echoes resounding, through hundreds of years, Oh, let us remember, and never forget, That Jesus is dying to pay our vast debt. In anguish, we tremble, in sorrow we weep, Surveying the ransom he paid for his sheep, The sound of a hammer, Oh, Lord, can it be, That Jesus is dying, and dying for me. In deepest repentance, we study his word, Which tells of the suffering of Jesus, our Lord, And how he awaits us on heaven's bright shore, Where sounds of the hammer will be heard never more. |
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