The shadow of the cross was spread out below Him,
Its arms stretching out…north, south, east, and west,
As if trying to embrace the world in entirety,
Encompassing all, in His grace, at His rest.

As His eyes traveled down on the masses that day,
Drawn to witness His death, most with pleasure,
He could see past their outward appearance of evil,
And sacrifice all for the sake of the treasure.

The treasure He saw on that violent hillside,
Was the vision first born on the dawn of creation,
That man would be joined in a covenant union,
With the Godhead, together, the birth of a nation.

As He looked to His right, He witnessed repentance,
Brought forth in the heart of a once hardened soul,
And He knew that His mission was finally completed;
For all generations, He accomplished His goal.

Then He looked to His left, and He grimaced with pain,
At the heart made of stone that rejected His Word;
For him there would be no room in His kingdom,
He chose his own ways, even though he had heard.

With all of this drama unfolding around Him,
Fulfillment of grace was still first in His mind;
For He would return, having conquered the darkness,
Return for those masses, which once had been blind.

We are those masses He died for that day,
As He hung on that cross, and the day turned to night,
Now the question remains to ask of yourself,
Which cross do you hang on, the left or the right?