The start of something really foul
was molding, rotten fruit.
The adversary with his scowl
was grasping, awful brute.
The Lord Supreme brought judgment dire
upon His former friend.
Now substance in between was ire
with friendship at its end.
The seed of woman and the snake
are ever locked in war.
The lasting justice God would make
at end of surly chore.
The snaky seed would bruise the least
of Savior’s living force.
His heel would smart as death would cease.
Thus charted He new course.
The Savior bruised that snaky head
thus crushing fangs of death
on Third Day when He raised from dead,
while drawing lasting breath.
The Lord of Glory took the nails
insanest hatred drove
as sin and death and hell impales
on ugly stick above.
This Master, Jesus, owns the Throne
from which He rules fore’er.
All other sentient beings prone
with no one praying there.
The children of The Master need
not pray to Him for aught
For all is grace by Raising deed
in hope beyond all thought.
But children of the snake are lost.
Their prayer’s to no avail
for selfishness has come with cost,
eternal, burning Hell.
Oh, seek The Lord this living day,
while he may yet be found.
With fleeting breath His Word obey
above the cold, cold ground.
One day you’ll live your last on Earth
when Master bids you come.
If you are ready by new birth,
you’ll know His greatest sum.
But if you linger and delay,
“Some day when all is right,”
then Hell’s great sorrows will betray
you in eternal Night.
Oh, come, Dear One! Make Jesus, Lord,
this quickly passing day.
He rose, again, by His own Word
with healing on display.
by Jay O’Toole
on April 4th, 2019
Poems About Jesus 