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.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2014
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