It is Finished

My sweet Jesus, no one can hurt you now
Resting peacefully in your mother’s arms
She holds you lovingly, wondering how
They thought you could deserve all this? What harms
You inflicted by your curing of the sick
By preaching riches to the poor and hope
To the hopeless, to stop misery quick
And broaden people to divine scope?
It is over, our debt to death is paid
Death dies with you, its castles you pull down
To rubble, where our evils shall be laid
And sack of squandered yesterdays will drown
Rising in resurrection, you will reign
Over our new lives, and never die again.

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