I am the hill that delivered men

 to their deaths centuries ago.

I am the hill that cradled

a King’s killing tree.

I am the hill where innocent blood

was spilled upon my soil.

I am the hill

called Calvary.

My story is still told to this day

 and always will be,

although many do not care

to take my tale to heart.

I beg of you

not to be one of those.

Listen to the cries this old hill

 tries to impart.

Here I became the sound footstool

of execution

where scoundrels were condemned

for their heinous crimes.

Many of men found their end

on this hill,

as I shook hands with death

scores of times.

Yes,

I was proud of my job

displaying dying murderers and thieves,

and the alike for all to see.

Until one day they brought a Man

who did not deserve His fate.

That was the day

that they humbled old Calvary.

I saw Him as He wrestled

with the weight of His cross,

how desperately He seemed to cling

to that killing tree.

I saw Him struggle

as He climbed up this hill,

but it was a painstaking hike

that He made willingly.

His body was weakened

from the inhumane beating He had bore,

and yet His eyes wore nothing but love

 of the likes I have never seen.

He seemed to be staring into generations of time

as He announced,

“By My blood,

you are made clean.”

As that cross was erected

with His broken body upon it,

I was suddenly burdened with a weight

that was massive and unwieldy.

I heard Him cry and felt Him tremble

 as Heaven looked away.

When He finally surrendered

His soul to death,

this old hill discovered what it felt like

to honestly grieve.

However joy vibrated my foundation three days later

when He rose again,

now stick that in your heart

 and believe!

Right here

on this very soil I held the altar

that sacrificed

the King of kings.

And I want you to know

I felt the weight of your sins on that Man.

Let me tell you friend,

do not let that be for nothing!

From the Whispered Reflections collection
Copyright 2005
www.windowsofgraceonline.com