Poetry by Lindsay Morris
"Made a Little Lower Than the Angels "
Christ tasted a dark death for me,
That I might be from sin set free.
A Victor of the lowest grave,
The cup of wrath my Lord did brave!
Temptations flooded all around,
"Resume thy honor!" Was their sound.
All devils sought the Son to sift,
And tried to make him from God drift.
Divinity he chose to leave,
And as a man, to God he cleaved.
He chose to walk the valleys low,
That man's temptations he would know.
Great drops of blood ran from His face,
As he prepared God's wrath to brace.
It was for me; my sinful soul.
That bearing wrath became his goal.
A succor to his saints when tried,
A friend whom never leaves my side!
He whispers in my ear each day,
"Fret not thyself, I am the way."
He's had the darkest night of soul.
He's paid the greatest of man's tolls.
This all was done that I could live;
His crown to beggars he could give!
My chains of darkness have all fled!
I shall now go where I am led!
The cup of martyrdom I'll drink,
If it saves sinners from hell's brink!
For I am not above my Lord!
And so I ne'er run from man's sword!
My heart yet longs to walk as he,
Though I be man, all unworthy.
We praise thee Christ for thou hast saved,
And ransomed thy sheep from the grave!
Our tongues are loosed to sing Thy praise,
And ever on thy glory gaze!