A Thorn

thorn1

A thorn, I asked—

one from His crown

to hold for Him

as side by side

we walked the forty days.

Though I was frail,

I thought one barb

could easily be borne

when He had suffered

so much more for me.

He heard my prayer;

with rending pain

it pierced my heart, my soul—

that single thorn,

just one alone.

There it lodged

and though He held my hand

and led me on to Easter morn,

I gladly gave it back,

my courage spent.

And never have I asked

again to share His crown,

not one thorn’s sting

from mankind’s weight of sin

that only God can bear.

It is enough

for me to face

what comes my way;

these days I trust in Him

to choose my trials.

M.C. Pehrson

Advertisements