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by Shelley Bingham –

The man of mercy still a child
in human flesh yet undefiled.
A tender virgin’s soft embrace
of savior to the human race,
embodied grace.

The man of mercy, God’s own son,
will reign in peaceful dominion.
Once spared from Herod’s mighty sword
that aimed to kill the Lord of Lords,
a child adored.

The man of mercy, now all grown,
Seeks His high will and not man’s own.
Sermons of love on mountains high
of turning cheeks to pacify,
Not eye for eye.

The man of mercy, now betrayed
was in the garden where He prayed.
The seal of sin in just one kiss,
the cup the Lord could not dismiss.
The burden His.

The man of mercy treads along
through jeering crowd and spitting throng.
On back He bears the wooden cross,
the weight of mankind’s albatross.
Peace at a loss.

The man of mercy, gone two days
when Sunday brought the sound of praise.
Folded linens, the stone was rolled,
His glorious image to behold
Christ’s story told.

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