Sunday, February 17, 2013

On Election Day in a Foreign Land

The new king makes pretty speeches:
He crowns himself with gold.
My King comes in frankincense,
His bloody death foretold:
In thorny crown and naked flesh,
Himself my treasury.
The new one offers years of wealth 
and false prosperity.
But my King says, "Here, take this Bread --
I'll break Myself for thee."
The new, in pomp and circumstance,
establishes his throne.
But my King, carrying all my shame,
conquered death alone.
When He had put to death my sins,
the ones that conquered me,
His living, breathing righteousness
resurrected me.

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