A Christmas Sonnet for Ransom
One silent night, full of stars and bright hope,
Perfect love poured out His fullness divine
Into that tiny, most fragile clay cup:
A helpless baby of a fallen line.
Why as a clay cup did deity descend?
He knew full well the painful, fiery flood
From which he must dink'ere He met the end.
One cup He gave, of covenant in blood,
One cup He took, of righteous wrath that burned.
God's precious Ransom in love bore our loss;
He drained to its dregs the death that we earned,
Through lowly manger and old rugged cross.
From cup of crimson wrath we're worthy of,
Christ offers us His crimson cup of love.
A precious gift. Thank you.
