My Resurrection Day Poem

Oh, dear Lord, let me be Your pen,
every now and then, write with me.
Oh, Lord, just now I pray,
that You would choose today-
to speak through me again.


I love You, Precious Jesus,
Thou art my Holy God.
I'll praise Your Name forever,
and before You I shall bow.


I'm so privileged, Lord, to be chosen,
among the few and many here,
to carry out that priceless call,
to cleanse from hearts such fear-
For only by Your grace and mercy sent out with Your Love,
can we receive, as I have done, the gifts within Your love.


The gifts, oh Lord, which do contain more than we can hold,
such peace and joy and freedom, Lord, to keep as we grow old.


Set free now by the Blood You shed, upon Mount Calvary,
a freedom that will never bind, this freedom, Lord, is free.
Our spirits now will never know, the depths of hells dark tomb,
we'll soar to heights so high above, now searched, through
Jesus' wounds.

The wounds that we ourselves inflicted, now bleed such precious
Blood, to cover and protect us with unmeasurable seas of love.
That love that searches out our hearts, and reaches down inside,
and lifts us up above despair, with a promise to abide,
It's never ending, never weakening strength just fills our souls,
it bursts right through those stifling cords, sin must loose it's hold.


Rejoice, rejoice, my soul must sing, it's Resurrection Day-
the love of God shakes everything, only Godliness remains.


The gloomy shield that satan carries is not in my path,
Yes, to the right or to the left, I need not look to that,
I'll keep my eyes on Jesus Christ, blest anchor of my soul-
and leave to Him where I shall go, I surrender all control.


His bleeding hands shall hold me close, from His Blood I'll not retreat.
This Blood I want, I need on me, from head down to my feet.
This Blood is not repulsive, to quickly be washed off,
I cannot wash away this Blood, it's me it washes off.
I am the dirty sinful girl that Jesus reaches for-
To wash and cleanse me with His Blood, that I might sin no more.
I gladly run to the fount of His Blood,
and see the mount of His shame,
I cry at the pain that I put Him through,
and still He calls out my name.
My name, what am I to Him? I ask,
but with love in His eyes I can see.
He looks through my heart which is His alone,
and He sees no sin in me.

~1989 Helen Williams! c 2002