By Samuel Raah Clingman
Written March 4, 2008
Slaver’s whip, burning hell.
Sun scorched lip, leper’s bell.
Warrior’s blood, mother’s pain.
Worker of mud, tyrant’s reign.
Doomed to die, we live in Hell.
Vainly plodding. Until the knell,
of that tarnished, clanging, old church bell,
where man’s life ends. Blood dost smirch,
blades will rend. Fouls the rivers,
creates the fens, of man’s demonic reign of pain.
Death is sleep, life is vain.
Men will weep, soldier’s bane.
Why we live, I know not why.
Life is a sieve, sable sky.
Screaming demons, old men tell,
Come and drag you down to Hell.
Grim the blade of that specter, Death,
It bites deep, stills all breath.
Until the time when man does see,
Why they hung God upon a tree.
Why they murdered that soul divine,
Cut off that life of Love sublime.
For man is dead, we know t’is true,
Until Christ died, Satan to subdue.
We now may live, you and I,
For Christ came down, came to die.
For men’s sin blood must be shed,
And so He died, His blood running red.
He who bled on that calvary tree,
Died, He did, for you and me.
That we might live, no more to die,
With Him in heaven, in joy divine.
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