The Stream

Slowly trickling down,
Each drop chases the next.
From a wooden Cross it flows,
Into the Holiest place.

Indeed a pleasing Sacrifice,
A pleasant sweet perfume.
Filling the Holy of Holies,
An offering has been made.

Born Out of a Love Lost,
Found in agony gained.
A Cost We could not bare,
A Price He willingly paid.

Redeeming the heart of man,
Bringing us back to Him.
Not of works our own,
But through his precious Grace.

So now we can freely enter,
Through this Veil torn in two.
Through a crimson stream of blood,
Where we are made whiter than snow.