I am Rikimaru; I am Shadow

Writer, Poet, Social Commentator

The Wood Carver

I carved the cross that killed my Saviour

That Nazarene boy of Mary born

Rebel we thought he to the Law

Refused his claims as God’s Holy son.


I knew his height and what he weighed

And chipped and chipped the wood to fit

Had I known, oh what misery laid

A wider wood the world’s sins would sit.


Of blood and pain this daily chore

No special thought for this request

What skill I had, what Heaven saw

That I should carve Yahweh’s bequest.


If cursed be he hung on a tree

Oh lost soul that conceived thee

Oh wretched hand that carved thee

What curse will thus come to mee?


To think he died to save me still

Though all my sins he doth foresee

No curse No death, no judgment still

I whose hands have carved this tree.


I carved the cross on which my Saviour hung

That wooden cross that bore my sin

If chanced again to sing a song

Twould be that Christ died to set me free.

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