The voice that bids the storms be stilled
The hand whose scars remain
The eyes that see from heaven’s gate
The heart that bears no stain
Has once for all His life-blood shed,
And claimed His rightful throne.
The power that called Him from the grave
Makes all who will, His own.
In life, in death, in victory
His is a solitary art.
No other than the God made man
Eternal life imparts.
Oh Father take what you have given,
All that I am or ere will be
And make of me a gift of love
To Him whose life has ransomed me.

©2010 Roberta Franklin, LaBarge, WY

Thanks Mom!