Every time I lie,
I pound another nail,
and secure His dy-ing.
For every impure thought,
I add to the crucifixton,
which was bought,
with His blood.
For every anger that
I feel,
His death for
me, becomes more real.
Two thousand years
have come and gone,
and with every sin,
I spit upon, the Cross.
The Father knew what I
would be..
He was the One
who created me.
Yet still He sent
His only Son,
and in doing that
a Victory was won.
For even in my sinful state
I realize how truly Great,
the sacrifice He did for me.
"Forgive me, Father,"
my Heart does cry
"for everytime, I have
let sin stop by."
His Love, convicts me
of all sin, and I strive
to be pure again...and again..
and again..
In That, still there is
His victory's win.
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Joseph Trance.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 20.12.2011.
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