A Poem: “Wrath upon the Head of Christ”

Wrath upon the head of Christ
Not a drop shall touch me
How the bloody sacrifice
Looks to me so lovely
Never would I wish Him pain
Yet I need His suff’ring
Lamb for certain sinners slain
Knit for me a cov’ring

Tide of wrath upon His chest
Condemnation muted
As I surely enter rest
He was surely wounded
Stream of mercy from the cross:
Bathe me richly in it!
Bitter with the righteous cost
Sweetened by His merit

Blade of God upon His brow
Anger there abiding
Drawn to take His life, and now
Mine is there presiding
Severed from the root of peace
Cut away from Heaven
The Lamb of God was robbed of fleece
The Bread of Life, unleavened

See the hammer born of God:
Jesus in its pathway
Made an anvil for that rod
Beaten, yet not crumb’ling
Yes, my Savior bore the load
Yes, my Savior perished
Yet upon the final blow
Death was made impoverished

Jesus – O how dear the name!
For when I was naked
Jesus dressed my feeble frame
With His righteous garment
Then He took my muddy shirt
Draped it on His glory
As if He had wrought the dirt!
As if He weren’t holy!

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