On a Chain
On a chain around my neck,
the cross I seldom wear.
Not made of wood or stained
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.
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