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Crucifixion Cup
Ivy Rose |
The cup loomed before My eyes.
Bitter gall filled it, heart-wrenching
sorrow poured into it. Father,
I had taken the cup in My hands
and willed it to be mine.
Oh, that for one hour
they that stayed with Me
in the garden of Gethsemane
could have cupped My face in theirs.
Their sin had become
as a stone upon My heart,
the sins of all the world
had been laid upon my back.
Nails gleamed at My distress.
Spikes teased My quivering flesh.
Lashes bared My skin to the bone.
Father, forgive them as I have;
for they did not know the cost
of what they purposed to do
nor could they have kept Me
from drinking My portion
of Your crucifixion cup.
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