I know the cross

I know the cross,
I know it: it is mine.
I love the Man who died on it.

I love the nations created for it.
I love the world restored by it.

I am known to a Man who is not unknown to pain.
He was drained, beaten, and silenced:
he was a Word that was crushed.

All that he is, was dead, lifeless,
shattered beneath the world's rebellion.

I know the cross,
I know it: it is mine.
I love the Man who died on it.

The pain that wicked men inflict
rises up against the cross but is crushed.
Death cannot win, though tragedy is eternal.

For the eternal Word wears scars on his wrists
and a wound in his side.
He died. And he crushed that, too.