THE WALK
The crowd lined the way to the hill that day
A man named Jesus was making his way
Up the hill called Calvary...
Carrying his cross that was so heavy
No help to him was offered by any
Though the way was lined by many
There were rich and poor
Some in the open
Some behind their door
Under the weight
His back was bent
As farther up the hill he went
His eyes met mine
And I knew
This to be a sign
Would remember this Man for all time
I stepped forward..
“Let me carry it a ways, Lord"
I could do that with my black skin
He rested and then
Almost to the top
He shouldered it again
And with it…
He now carried my burden of sin
©Copyright March 2002 by Faye Sizemore
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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