Sacrament

The crumb of bread I lift to lips Is freighted in my fingers. I squeeze it hard lest it slips Reclaiming a past that lingers. 'Tis a weighty rite to partake Tokens of His riven frame. Freely given for our sake Oft taken lightly to our shame. Christ's counsel the priest voices Imploring us to recall His valor. Securing the Spirit for our choices Arming us against Satan's power. The water cup I lift toward head Willed to wasting not a mite. Emblematic of the blood He shed Testament of how He won the fight. A sacred thing beyond compare Is taking bread and water blessed. Thereby claiming a priceless share Of our Redeemer's noblesse.