I know of a story too dear to hear,
It comes in the form of a Cross,
It's a tale that's lasted 2000 years,
It can not be hidden or lost.

The sight of the Cross, all on its own,
Requires no words to make clear, Its
image is old and very well known, Yet,
each time it is seen, it brings tears.

It's a picture of shame and of pain,
A tale of the Blood of the Lamb,
There's no need for words;
its vision explains.
Quite plainly God's plan for man.

The Cross speaks volumes without
making a sound, We need only to see
where it's pierced, and look on the
ground for a dropped thorny crown,
To know of suffering
and anguish most fierce.

I cringe from the sound of silent
screams heard, some of them coming
from me, For that sight of the
Cross without any words,
Is almost too deafening to see.

written by Virginia (Ginny) Ellis