It's not about length of life, but depth.: January 2009

Hope
by Scott D Mohler
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Not long ago we learned that we
Should in the year expect to be
The parents of a child, our first—
The wells within our spirits burst
With greatest joy!

But heightened joy would soon descend
To sunken grief. This baby’s end
Had come so soon—we never knew
If hair was dark, if eyes were blue,
A girl, a boy.

Not held, or seen, not ever heard;
Not once would utter a single word;
No fingers formed, nor foot, or face;
And yet no facts as these erase
This truth—a life.

A life so small, yet imaged He,
Who spoke a word, and brought to be
All things as was His perfect will,
Just as this precious life, now still—
But darkness rings.

Alive for only weeks and days
Yet couldn’t escape the darkened haze
Of sin’s cold curse that still remains—
This death! And all these earthly pains
That man has brought!

O wretched curse that drains all men—
Makes off with life again, again!
What will there be to break this curse,
To conquer death, and pains disperse
That Life will reign?

Was long foretold that one would come
To once for all remove the sum
Of darkness covering all the nations,
None exempt—all generations
Down from Adam.

Rich food and ancient wine, refined
He’ll bring when every tear mankind
Would shed will be wiped from the eyes
Of all who’ve waited for His prize—
The Earth’s salvation!

Then came, this One, who told would set
His people free and cancel debt
That but by Him could e’er be paid—
Was God, and faithful ‘til He laid
His own life down.

Was beaten, bruised, spat on, scorned
In thorned crown and robe adorned,
Was crushed by sin and to a tree
Was nailed, till the world would see
His life depart.

But now, would Satan laugh at last?
The King lay still, His life had passed—
The One on whom all hope was placed!
All expectation now replaced
By Death’s defeat!

But three days hence He raised again
The temple walls. No hands of men
This time were used! All worship now
In Spirit, Truth, ever to bow
At Jesus’ feet.

The Hope of Men, shown in that day
The only one that none could say
Of: “Satan has a word on Him”—
The Victor o’er the Grave! Now dim
The course for Death.

There is, therefore, no hope so sure
As this: In Jesus, safe—secure!
For He, the founder of salvation,
Firstfruits of the New Creation,
Lives!

Though yet, all living now decline
Toward death, His raising is the sign
And guarantee the Church will rise
To meet her Savior in the skies
When He returns!

And while we wait our King’s return,
Through sickness, pain, and death we yearn
That Day when faith will be made sight
And all the darkness turned to light—
All wrongs made right!

Thus, we grieve this child’s death
In hope, believing every breath
Is from the Lord, and by His Hand
Will come and go as He has planned
For His name’s sake.

“The Lord will give, and He will take,”
But never will His Church forsake!
Let all the earth be filled with praise,
For great and mighty are His ways
Above our thoughts!

And would that this, though small a trial,
Sound that only for a while
Death will bide! May God proclaim
This in our baby’s life and name—
Our child, “Hope.”