A Thought

I've heard of a man who loves us all;
I've heard of him many times.
The person who dies and goes to Heaven,
His stairway always climbs.
He was born a babe of holy birth,
Yet no one seemed to care.
Joseph and Mary asked for help,
But help those days was rare.
To show the world of His great love,
He died to save us from sin.
The world could not do without His help;
He soon arose again.
The time will come, when most will die;
The earth will be set aflame.
There's no way to stop it, it's all predicted,
But who but ourselves can we blame?

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem