COME, SON OF EASTER MORN
How easily old wounds creep out of ancient tombs,
seeking resurrection power in my imagination.
My heart cries, “Forgiveness is too hard, too much to ask.
Yet, it cannot compare to Your suffering, O Lord of Life.
How did You manage in your humanity to forgive Your tormentors?
They gloried in Your pain, laughed at your suffering,
sought to extinguish Your light, without understanding
they were a necessary part of the Father’s plan.
Come, Son of Easter Morn.
Send Your Holy Spirit.
Break the shackles of resentment.
Bind up my broken heart.
Unstop my deaf ears.
Spread Your healing balm upon my darkened eyes
that I may walk in the Power of Your Resurrection Glory.
The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word.