Easter Poems
Let these Easter Poems remind you of the biblical meaning ….the resurrection of Christ. A day to be celebrated and to give thanks!
Who Won
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2019
From Friday’s tragedy and terror to Sunday’s redeeming cry,
The world has discovered that Christ is real, with evidence man can’t deny.
Truly He’s risen, just as He promised, sitting at God’s right hand;
We have the privilege of calling Him Saviour if we obey His command.
But oh, so costly was this venture, it brought such agony and pain,
Hatred filled the hearts of leaders; somehow their laws they must maintain.
If He won the crowd’s devotion, if they followed in His train,
They would lose prestige and power, they could would not allow His gain!
Make an example of this rebel, the arm of the law must rule supreme;
This young intruder’s no exception, we’ll end this young man’s crazy scheme.
But death will never be the ruler – God had initiated a plan,
Created after the downfall of Adam, Satan must never have rule over man!
Christ gives us choices, we have an option; sin’s penalty paid that we might go free,
God is the author, Christ the Redeemer, nothing can change this eternal decree.
Pharisees tried, thought they had killed Him, yet Jesus rose triumphantly.
He is still Ruler, fully in power, great interceder for you and for me.
Christ, the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!
Easter Quotes
The Soldier’s Crime
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2019
Nailed to the crossbar, couldn’t move, now let’s see Him try to prove,
All the things He claimed to be – Son of God and majesty.
But now He’s under our control, He’s stuck upon a wooden pole.
The claims He made were sure great schemes; fantastic thoughts and crazy dreams.
Now look what happened to His plan – He’s nothing more than one dead man!
Such foolish things that guys will do, I guess He’s just one messed up Jew.
My goodness! It’s so dark out now but it is only noon!
What’s happening? What’s this all about, why is it dark so soon?
You don’t suppose that Jew was right, and what He said was true?
If he was right, God help our souls! Oh God! What can we do?
We can’t undo this horrible crime, we didn’t see the light;
It took this frightening, midday black to know we lost the fight.
God! We are doomed by lack of faith, we’ve hung your only Son,
He, most innocent of all; we each, a guilty one!
But God replies, “Hope is not lost, your trust can set you free.
Just do what Jesus told you to: ‘Come, believe in me.'”
The soldiers bent their grieving heads and sought for their release,
Then Jesus gladly took them in and gave eternal peace.
Heaven’s Reaction
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 1996
What was it like up in heaven when the Light no longer shone?
How did the seraphs and angels respond when Jesus was gone?
Did they know of His mission beforehand? Had they gathered to bid Him farewell?
Was apprehension a factor? Would there be many stories to tell?
And, what about Jesus’ own feelings? Leaving His glory behind;
Descending to earth as a baby to reach out to all of mankind?
Had there been many meetings in glory, preparing for what lay ahead?
That this Ruler of all earth and heaven through testings and trials should be led?
Relinquish the joy and the honour for torture and hatred from man.
Did the angels agree with God’s method? Were they even aware of God’s plan?
I think if I’d been an angel and had known what things man would do,
To destroy this gift of a Saviour, I’d have said, “Dear Jesus, not You!
Let man find his own way of justice, they don’t want to hear what You say;
There’s greed, self-love and pure hatred, there’s anger, distrust and dismay.”
But Jesus’ pure love never faltered, His eyes never strayed from His goal;
He set His mind for redemption, to reclaim man’s guilt-ridden soul.
For thirty-three years, up in glory, while Jesus walked down here on earth,
It must have been desperately lonely; no Light, no joy, no mirth.
There must have been great anxious moments, knowing the grief He would bear,
And feeling their helpless condition; worse still, not a way they could share.
Was it essential for Jesus, Creator, the Sustainer of all;
To draw man up from the mire – man who’d been ruined by the fall?
Yes! For there could be no other, none else could be found free of sin.
T’was Jesus, the pure and the holy, to draw fallen man back again.
Then, oh, what tremendous rejoicing, when even one sinner turns back,
The angels in heaven proclaiming, “He’s conquered o’er Satan’s attack!”
The grief they had felt at His parting, replaced by the joy of this soul;
Who once had been lost in great darkness, now totally in Jesus’ control.
This Light, the Light of all heaven, was shared with all travellers on earth,
Proclaiming the way of salvation, announcing the thrill of new birth.
Now all who have heard God’s true message, and all who would call on His name,
Are given the promise of sharing in all that His Word does proclaim.
“He is risen! Gone back to glory!” The angels rejoice with great zeal!
The portals of heaven are ringing, “SALVATION! Salvation is real!”
Christ’s Obituary
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2013
Beware if my obituary is stating I am dead;
I bear the scars of suffering, the thorns upon my head;
The marks where nails were driven, the lashes on my back;
The deep humiliation, the angry mob’s attack.
The torment of deep hatred, the mistrust and the guile;
The words that bite like adders, such cruel words defile.
It did not thwart my purpose, it did not change my plan,
The need seemed only greater, the sinfulness of man.
Before my journey started, my mission was to save,
Before my earthly entrance, man had become sin’s slave.
I knew the pain I’d suffer, the burden that I’d bear,
The price that sin demanded had to be carried there.
The cross could never hold Me, my Father set me free;
I live! I walk in glory! No grave had claims on me.
And through my death I conquered the perils all men face,
Sin is no more a victor, it’s been replaced by grace.
Salvation’s door is opened, the key is to believe,
For mercy is extended the moment you receive,
The gift of God’s forgiveness, you’re not a slave to sin,
You are a new creation when Jesus enters in.
Christ Is Alive
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2013
They killed my Saviour, or thought they had;
They resented the power He held.
The crowds stood in awe and the Pharisees feared,
For in all that He did He excelled.
A touch to the eyes and the blind man could see,
He spoke and the lame man could walk;
He called and a dead man came out of the grave,
Through Christ’s power, the mute man could talk.
Some of the miracles Jesus performed
Were recorded to make us aware
That God’s great plan was the one in control
As the marvels of nature declare.
Is it greed or jealousy that man displays
That He needs to be stronger than God?
He wants no directions that alter His course;
He’s plotted the way he will trod.
Never mind the fact that it’s a futile display
Of selfish and arrogant pride;
He will not acknowledge that Christ is supreme
And his own importance denied.
But God! Oh, the power of those two little words,
Steps in with His all-patient grace;
Forgives man’s ideological faults
And willingly changes his place.
Christ, the sin bearer, the Saviour of man,
Transforms the heart that was cold.
New life has entered, there’s hope for the soul,
Christ is alive! Death’s sting has no hold!
I Saw
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2005
I saw the grief, the sorrow, the anguish on His face,
The torture that His body had endured;
I saw the blood-drenched figure, the welts upon His back,
The beatings that the soldiers had incurred.
I saw humiliation, I heard the sneers of men,
I saw the priests’ desire to ruin this man,
I saw the thorns they plaited and pushed into His head,
I saw the crowd desirous to thwart God’s plan.
I saw the purple garment with which they mocked His name,
I saw the soldiers cruelly slap His face,
I saw them lash His body with mighty, heavy stripes,
No ounce of mercy, not a speck of grace.
I saw the cross He carried, I saw His faltering steps,
The load was almost more than He could bear;
I heard the soldiers curse Him and try to move Him on,
I saw His blood-soaked body struggle there.
The crowd was in a fury, their aim, to seal His fate,
Their conscience had been seared by what He’d said;
They had their self-made schedules, they would not be disturbed,
Much better if this crazy man were dead.
And yet, He did not blame them, He saw how blind they were,
He knew that Satan had confused their mind.
His eyes were full of mercy through all the pain and care.
But they could not discern what He defined.
His mission was not finished until the blood flowed free,
Until the final stages loosed sin’s chains;
He bore sin’s heavy burden, the deeds of all mankind,
The cross brought freedom, now salvation reigns!
Christ’s Journey
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
The final words of the Savior were words of His human needs;
He hung on the cross to save others, the greatest commitment indeed.
He need not have died for His own sake, for Christ was the sinless One;
His deeds were done out of mercy, for the wicked things we had done.
We cannot call Him a martyr, for a martyr has no control;
Christ was in charge of His hanging, thereby releasing our soul.
He had no debt that He owed God; He had the freedom of choice,
He came from the portals of glory where angels and seraphs rejoice.
The charge that His Father had given, that only Christ could achieve,
Must have rocked the portals of heaven; would earthly creatures believe?
And, no, they did not accept Him; they whipped Him and spit in His face,
They ridiculed every statement; they mocked Him, the One full of grace.
His journey was lonely and painful; He was constantly misunderstood,
Though He healed the sick and the dying with arms outstretched to do good.
But His love was rarely accepted, His motives were questioned, condemned,
The Pharisees called Him a rebel, a loner, a man with no friend.
But yet He continued His mission, oft times with eyes full of tears,
How could His subjects ignore Him, or greet Him with mocking and jeers?
Then finally, the words, “It is finished,” declared that His journey was o’er,
Accomplished, His mission was over; no need to do any more.
Assured, the task was not easy; the road to the cross had been rough,
But God, the heavenly Father, confirmed it was done, �twas enough.
He Did It
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2000
Jesus does not hang here, the cross does not have power,
Jesus had allowed it because it was His hour.
No cross could ever hold Him, no tomb encase His soul,
Man thought that through His capture, death would take its toll.
It seemed that no one listened, they heeded not His word,
He spoke of God, His Father, but no one really heard.
The soldiers drove the nails in and crushed thorns on His head,
They pierced a sword into His side and then declared Him dead.
There, now the thing was finished, accomplished was the feat,
The enemy was conquered, their plans were now complete.
With no more crazy stories, no tales of conquests great,
The culprit had been silenced, forever sealed by fate.
In order to be certain, they sealed the tomb secure,
And placed the guards before it; this man would speak no more!
But wait! The peace is broken, the stone is rolled away!
The guards lie in stunned silence, this prophesied third day.
Behold! The Lord is risen! Who would have thought it true?
Those great, far fetched predictions! Is that what God can do?
He warned us, He announced it – the warning was quite clear,
But who of them would listen? No, no one there would hear.
Yet all throughout the ages this day had been foretold,
Genesis declared it; this story is of old.
And now it’s been accomplished, the price of sin is paid;
God merely wants acceptance, a statement to be made.
That we declare Him holy, that we surrender all;
To bend our knees before Him, that we accept His call.
No, life won’t be all roses; yes, thorns might prick your soul,
But Christ, the burden bearer, will have complete control.
Praise God! His Son is risen! And death has no power,
He is the mighty conqueror, e’en in life’s darkest hour.
So wanderer, accept Him, the offer stands today;
You may not have tomorrow, no chance to kneel and pray.
It’s God who makes this offer, it’s you who must decide,
With open arms extended, He calls, “Stand by My side.”
All my theology is reduced to this narrow compass –
“Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners.”
Archibald Alexander
God’s Grace Quotes
Stooping To Save
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
Why trade Your golden crown for one incased in thorns?
When all of heaven served Your beck and call?
Why leave the peace and glory of such a perfect place,
And give yourself so freely to us all?
You knew before You started how cruel the world could be,
You knew You’d be rejected, left alone.
A world of idle gossip, of wicked evil men,
Whose only thought was of their very own.
God, You, who are so loving; how could You let Him go?
Your Son, Your One and Only, grace supreme.
Is mankind that important to warrant such a gift?
Did You not know about man’s evil scheme?
Man does not want a Saviour, he feels in full control;
He has no thought about eternity.
Today is all that matters, tomorrow may not come,
Why be concerned of what may never be?
For this You came to suffer? For this You gave Your life?
You walked upon the earth amidst the scorn.
You let the tyrants mock You, You gave no tart reply,
You knew precisely that’s why You were born.
Oh, Lord! How can we thank You? For we have seen the light;
We realize without You we are lost.
Lord, teach us how to value this gift that has no price,
Because You bore the grief and paid the cost.
We’ll always be indebted, yet fully declared free,
A plan no human mind can comprehend.
Christ, the great Creator, Master of the world,
Has stooped this low to be our dearest Friend.
The head that once was crowned with thorns is crowned with glory now.
Thomas Kelley
Inspirational Sayings
Bethlehem-Town
Poet: Eugene Field
As I was going to Bethlehem-town,
Upon the earth I cast me down
All underneath a little tree
That whispered in this wise to me:
“Oh, I shall stand on Calvary
And bear what burthen saveth thee!”
As up I fared to Bethlehem-town,
I met a shepherd coming down,
And thus he quoth: “A wondrous sight
Hath spread before mine eyes this night, –
An angel host most fair to see,
That sung full sweetly of a tree
That shall uplift on Calvary
What burthen saveth you and me!”
And as I gat to Bethlehem-town,
Lo! wise men came that bore a crown.
“Is there,” cried I, “in Bethlehem
A King shall wear this diadem?”
“Good sooth,” they quoth, “and it is He
That shall be lifted on the tree
And freely shed on Calvary
What blood redeemeth us and thee!”
Unto a Child in Bethlehem-town
The wise men came and brought the crown;
And while the infant smiling slept,
Upon their knees they fell and wept;
But, with her babe upon her knee,
Naught recked that Mother of the tree,
That should uplift on Calvary
What burthen saveth all and me.
Again I walk in Bethlehem-town
And think on Him that wears the crown.
I may not kiss His feet again,
Nor worship Him as did I then;
My King hath died upon the tree,
And hath outpoured on Calvary
What blood redeemeth you and me!
The Cross Was His Own
Poet: Unknown
They borrowed a bed to lay his head
When Christ the Lord came down;
They borrowed the ass in the mountain pass
For him to ride to town;
But the crown that he wore
And the cross that he bore
Were his own.
He borrowed the bread when the crowd He fed
On the grassy mountainside;
He borrowed the dish of broken fish
With which he was satisfied;
But the crown that he wore
And the cross that he bore
Were his own.
He borrowed the ship in which to sit
To teach the multitude;
He borrowed a nest in which to rest;
He had never a home so rude;
But the crown that he wore
And the cross that he bore
Were his own.
He borrowed a room on his way to the tomb
The Passover Lamb to eat;
They borrowed a cave for him a grave;
They borrowed a winding sheet;.
But the crown that he wore
And the cross that he bore
Were his own.
The thorns on His head were worn in my stead
For me the Saviour died.
For guilt of sin the nails drove in
When Him they crucified;
Though the crown He word
And the cross He bore
Were His own
They rightly were mine.
Scars of Life
Poet: Eldred Herbert
Nail-scarred hands; imprints from a cruel cross,
Nail-scarred hands; outstretched to set us free;
River side; with life’s blood ebbing fast,
That sinner man may have his liberty.
We did not see Him nailed upon the tree,
This happened many, many years ago;
Nor did we see the temple rent in twain,
Nor darkness falling – but through faith we know.
Scars remain from that day long ago,
Brow still scarred from piercing crown of thorn,
Heart still breakings, as it did that day,
For sinsick man today, and those unborn.
So let us with meek humiliation,
Meet Him at the foot of Calvary’s cross;
Accept Him as our Lord and Saviour,
For He alone can save from total loss.
Christ, nail scarred; God’s own Begotten Son,
So willingly died that we all might live;
He cleansed us by shedding of His blood,
And as we come to Him, He does forgive.
I’m So Sorry!
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
Dear Jesus:
I’m so sorry You had to go through such pain, so sorry for the anguish and heartache;
The nights without sleep, the world without love, rejected, despised all for my sake.
No claim to a home in a world which is yours, not a soul who said, “I respect You;”
Even at best those you thought of as friends, by their actions said, “I reject you.”
You calmed the despondent, You healed those in pain, befriended those who were outcasts;
You touched the eyes of the man who was blind, who rejoiced at the wonderful contrast.
There wasn’t a soul that You didn’t touch, all those who came You accepted;
But no one seemed to notice Your needs, at best, Your love was rejected.
I’m sorry that no one quite understood, or noticed that You too were lonely;
Thousands of people milling about, not loving, but needing You only.
I’m sorry, dear Jesus, that You were accused, because You had great healing power;
I’m sorry that folks didn’t see Your real love, they mocked You till Your final hour.
How could You love such creatures of hate? How could You bear all that sorrow?
How were You able to shoulder such pain and seeing repeat on the morrow?
No one to grant You the needs that You had, no bed on which You could slumber,
No one to greet You when weary and worn, to the world You were merely a number.
One among thousands who roamed through the streets, a homeless man looking for pity;
Their rationale was, “Find your own way, we don’t give alms in this city.”
I’m sorry, dear Jesus, that You had to die – our guilt was not of Your making,
But love was the ultimate goal in Your plan, You knew the road You were taking.
My sorrow is for the pain You endured, my joy is that You succeeded,
Destroying the barriers that kept us from God, You opened the door that we needed.
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