His hour had come.
He was alone,
yet among crowds of people.
Alone he was,
with eager angels waiting to comfort him.
Alone with his Father in deepest sympathy,
but knowing that his son must walk alone
the bloody and tortuous path.
Alone he had been in the garden -
praying for strength to drink the bitter cup.
He who alone on the earth
created the world, and all that is in it;
he who made the silver from which
the pieces were stamped which bought him,
he who could command defenders on both sides of the veil -
stood and suffered.
What dignity!
What mastery!
What control!
Spencer W. Kimball
Ensign, December 1980
No comments:
Post a Comment