Editor’s Note:
Today we are fortunate to have a poem on freedom, redemption, and grace that was beautifully composed by James Carran. He has graciously agreed to submit more poems and hymns in the future that will cover similar themes. James is, in my eyes, the magazine’s Poet Laureate whose work, whether poetry or fiction, is always delightful to read.
Enjoy
- Frank Theodat
My chains are heavy, hard and cold
Forged in fires of flickering gold.
I hate the weight of these cold chains
But love despite, and through, my pains,
The hand that forged them from of old.
That hand bears scars, the match of mine
Where strength and weakness intertwine.
'Tis my own sin has formed my scars
And mine the sin his surface mars:
The cost of love and grace divine.
That hand, though hell should try to lure,
Shall hold me firmly, strong, secure.
He will not let me fall below,
Though my torn heart would lead me so,
His love-forged chains shall hold me sure.
(Wipes a tear from his eye,)
Who me, crying? Nope, just something in my heart.