Word Count: 65

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His food was to do His Father's will

by Fenny West  
5/15/2007 / Poetry

His food was to do His Father's will
His field was the world, you and me
His bed was the cross on which He laid
His blood was the price He paid for love.

Hands pierced with nails He still beckons
"Come to Me, all you who are burdened,
And I will lift you up to the penthouse.
There, you will find joy unspeakable.

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