Easter And The Soldier’s Cross
by Ross Cochrane
I found it framed, the old painted image.
It was hidden, lost among a host
of well-read books on benches, forsaken and tossed,
Snubbed, Where dust paid tribute to it’s visage.
Antiquated icon, our heritage
Painted here with tears, and smeared with cost,
One who bears sin and cares upon a cross
Shares nail-scared hands, love’s eternal message.
This soldiers name on canvas gives a clue
Of one who knew that death has lost it’s sting,
And though he died, perhaps he always knew,
There where the cruel bullets crack and sing,
His canvas of the cross would speak anew
Of life and peace that faith in Christ can bring.