Three nails, a crown of thorns,
A spear driven through his side.
An angry mob, a Mother's tears,
He hung on the cross till He died.

Taken to the tomb and buried,
Three days later He arose.
I know it's such an old story,
But do you think everyone knows.

 

We have to share His word,
And how He died for all.
That is what God expects of us,
That is our God given call.

We are His mighty warriors,
And prayer is another gift He gave.
Teach others to bend and pray,
So that their soul too, He will save.

 

It's seem the number three,
Works in a mighty powerful way.
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Is the key to Heaven today.

So I ask you to believe in three's.
What a wonderful number it seems to be.
God the Father, Jesus the Son,
And the Holy Ghost makes three.

 

© Brenda King
October 2007