Towards the silence here below
Crimson rain falls gently down.
it Softly glistens: gentle brook,
Its source above, a thorny crown.
Wisps of golden light here show,
Mask’d by the darkness drear.
a Cry for mercy: earnest, low
Comes pleading to His ear.
Small, beneath the cross, I kneel
Worn and guilty, sinner shamed.
the Friend who saves: His wounds will heal
This peccant life yet stained.
- J. P. Antonios