The Rooster crows, it must be dawn..
Reminds me of that fateful morn..
Where on a cross He had to die..
And so few wondered, reason why..
The world to save, and conquer sin..
Thus with His life, each soul to win..
A cross to carry, up the hill..
Just there to hang, His heart grow still..
Three trees or crosses, row on row..
Down the trunk, their blood to flow..
If Son of God be e'er set free..
He did no harm, as doth did we..
A flash of light, a time or two..
Then from His lips fast turning blue;
' into Thy hands, My voice Thou hearest,
into Thy hands command My spirit..'
The darkness passed for all to see..
The Son of God, upon the tree..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem