With solemn joy we sing
justice and grace
from hymnals,
songs about the Omniarch
who liberally lashed
wrath,
pained wages
poured on the Supereminent Son.

Remember that columnated cloud?
That firey firmness that held the beach?
He who opened the seas

now pelted in propitiation,
He flounders like a charioteer.

And down to death
– though not to damned decay –
He went.

There he defeated,
meted sting to,
the bee.

With substitutionary fee
– not mere amnesty –
He bought a remnant
that follows

a lamb now
raised
to life.

 

Joe Spring is an independent writer with a full time job and a happy family that keeps him busy. If you would like to find out how to support his work and contribute to his writing shed savings, please click here.