I carry Jesus in my heart;
I need no cross to remind me
Of love given, on His part,
And the life of sin behind me.
For, when I gave, to Him, my life,
I gave without reserve.
Though there'd be some pain and strife,
I knew my duty was to serve.
A Christian, I could never be,
By giving less than all.
To give Him less, 'twas plain to see,
I'd be too weak, and sure to fall.
To serve, is the cross which I see,
And not a piece of metal or wood.
"Cursed is He who hangs on a tree",
So, what is the form of the cross which stood?
Men seem to place too much trust
On that, on which, the Savior hung.
I find that Christ is my must---
His praise, forever, on my tongue.
If He were willing to sacrifice
His sinless life and blood,
So let it be---let that suffice,
Since He, in my place, stood.
To earth, from heaven, Jesus came,
To cleanse my life of dross,
So, let me praise my savior's name
And never glorify the cross.
By L. B. Strawn
December 18 & 19, 1986