On a Chain
On a chain around my neck, the cross I seldom wear.
Not made of wood or bloodstained from Jesus bloody hair.
It doesn't show the holes from nails that pierced His hands,
nor the scrapes from being dragged on that dusty land.
I cannot hear the sound of Jesus when He cried for me and you,
"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do..."
I took the shiny cross off, it doesn't suit my taste.
Put on the whole armour of God, Eph:6:11-18, in it's place.
Copyright © Edith Doherty Eutsler | Year Posted 2014
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