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The Hill of Golgotha
By Larry Hoeck
The hill of Golgotha,
So dark and so drear;
Sits crowned high in sorrow
And dampened by tears.
Atop this bare hillock,
Where once scoffers stood;
The shadows now fall from
Three crosses of wood.
The crosses are there yet,
Though now they are bare;
But once were they laden
With men hanging there.
The cross on the left side,
Held one filled with hate;
Who hurled his derision
And sealed his own fate.
The cross on the right side,
Was different, you see,
It held a believer
Whose faith made him free.
The cross in the middle,
Our Savior did hold;
The one perfect being
Whose death was foretold.
He suffered in anguish,
His blood stained the ground;
He said, “It is finished”,
Then made no more sound.
His body was taken,
And carried away;
The tomb did receive Him
A stone barred the way.
But Lo! On the third day,
The stone had been moved.
The grave stood wide open
The prophecy proved.
He walked once more earthbound;
His wisdom to share.
Then rose to the Father;
His throne waited there.
He rules now in heaven;
From sin set apart;
And reigns now forever
As King in our heart.
(For those of you who may not know, the author
of this poem is Betty Hoeck’s son. He and his wife have visited
with us here on a number of occasions through the years.)
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