🎨 Hello, dear artists!
Upon the hill, beneath a sky of dread,
He bore the beam where sinners should have bled.
Thorns crowned His brow, yet mercy crowned His gaze,
A lamb in chains who walked through death’s cruel maze.
Each step He took was heavy with our blame,
Each wound a whisper, calling out our name.
No curse He spoke, though pierced by hate and rod,
He stumbled on—the beaten Son of God.
The cross He bore was love in splintered wood,
His blood, the bond that none but He withstood.
And on that hill where silence met the skies,
God wept through Him—with mercy in His eyes.
Ready? It’s a moment just for you. Enjoy it! 🖼️🖌️
