Drink.
Drink deep.
Shadows and gloom bear down upon him.
Bitter is this convention–bitter and grim.
‘Tween them rests a cup, filled to the brim.
The Father and Son in anguish mourn,
For the untold agonies soon to be born,
And not by flesh and blood and thorn.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
Contained in her swirling, sinister depths,
A draught for the nations no one accepts.
But drink they must to their very last breath.
Never before, no there never has been,
Such poison, judgment, such condemnation.
They will vomit it out only to drink it again.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
By their own evil desire did he entice,
Them to atrocities, depravity, and vice.
Did you truly think there would be no price?
Every stolen trinket, every lie ever told,
Every man slaughtered, every slave sold,
Their cost is counted and now to be tolled.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
But who has twisted the whims of men?
Ah, yes–he, too, is there in the garden.
The tears, sweat and blood, they embolden.
He beckons our Champion forsake His aim,
Reject the very purpose for which He came.
After all, they have only themselves to blame.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
Urges the Father, who pleases to crush,
In the charged, dissonant evening hush,
His wrath must o’er the Son of Man gush.
A wrath by men so richly deserved,
From which none ought to be preserved.
Rejoice, oh sinner, that He was not swerved.
Drink. Drink Deep.
.
Braver words never have been spoken–
Remember, forget not, this gallant token–
“Not My will but Yours,” He is not broken.
That enemy of old simply cannot grasp,
The might of Godhood which the Son has passed,
His own greedy, disfigured claws dare not clasp.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
With His suffering the accuser must be content.
His love for the Father by whom He was sent,
Drives Him to Golgotha and its cursed ascent.
Even nailed to the tree, the Liar beguiles,
He tempts Him “come down” through mocking wiles.
If He were god, would He suffer such trials?
Drink. Drink deep.
.
What those hapless spectators cannot see,
Is the weight of the cup poured completely
On the most perfect One ever to breathe.
They see the blood, gore, and the nails.
They can’t comprehend the cost if He fails.
Before His sorrow all suffering pales.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
And drink he did, every last, bitter drop.
At any time he could have called, “Stop.”
Instead it killed him on that wretched hilltop.
Couldn’t know those mockers, foolish and petty,
Ten thousand angels no doubt stood ready,
And only by the power of God held steady.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
With His last, precious breath He fought,
To reclaim from the ruin sin had wrought,
Souls befouled, worthless He bought.
With His final, loud, heartbreaking cry,
The cup was emptied and He would die.
The torn temple curtain divulges why.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
For on that man settled the weight of all sin,
That of yesterday, today, and ever amen.
And now all who call on His Name enter in.
In His purity He was the only choice offering.
In His divine power death lost its sting.
Of His courage and victory, the lost ever sing.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
Before you now rests the bread and wine.
The body and blood, an everlasting sign.
They proclaim the death of the divine,
Until He returns to take back His own.
For that day all the earth will groan,
And we will exult at the foot of His throne.
Drink. Drink deep.
.
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Feminine 101 