I met our dear Lord last night in a vivid dream
He was radiant - bathed by unseen brilliant beam,
He approached - a gentle smile upon His face.
"My child, I have come to grant you a special grace,"
He whispered ever so softly in my ear.
Overcome with wonder, my eyes began to blear.
I beamed to think that He would grant to only me
This privilege which must confirm my sanctity
Surely this must place me among the holiest few.
"I want to show you just how much I love you,"
He said and then He offered me my desired prize . . .
It was a whip well-worn. I gasped my shocked surprise!
Puzzled, I resisted taking the instrument,
But Jesus was unwavering and insistent.
Still bewildered, I grasped the whip . . . it fit my hand!
What could this mean? Why couldn't I understand?
He lowered His cloak so I could see His back.
The countless scars and open wounds! My mind went black . . .
His bloodied flesh lacerated and badly torn
Yet such agony meekly, even lovingly, born.
Once again as before, my eyes began to blear.
My lungs screamed a silent scream - the truth now clear.
And now that I knew, I begged to not understand . . .
It was from much use that the handle fit my hand.
