When the alabaster flask
broke in my hand
my heart broke for you,
and pouring the ointment over your head
was the least I could do.
Too costly they shout,
So little I think,
for soon you’ll be broken too.
If I were a prophet
I’d anoint you king or high priest.
A waste! They enjoin
From their comfortable seats;
Worth it I think as I sit at your feet.
I see you my Master –
You call me your friend.
How can giving to my Savior be
extravagant when
His own costly sacrifice
ensures mercy without end?
©Janet McDonald
No comments:
Post a Comment