On the Top of a Foggy Hill

by Alex Reece and Bethany Brunner
(Fort Wayne, IN)

On the top of a foggy hill,
As the angels sat fearful and still,
Stood the thick piece of wood
That held the meaning of all that is good.
This cross has more meaning behind it
Than people actually realize,
And when these lost people find it,
Their Father can open their eyes.

It’s where the One
Who gave us all,
Humbly hung to die,
And silently the Son,
Began to fall,
Between His earth and sky.

Whipped and beaten,
Feeling defeated,
They mocked His holy name,
Saying, ‘If you’re God’s gift,
Stop all of this,”
But He wouldn’t play their game.

He could have called ten thousand angels,
But He bore the Cross alone,
For the forgiveness that our sin entangles:
The love He’s always shown.

As he was beaten and the blood flowed down,
His mother stood and wept,
And as he wore that thorny crown,
Our sins were lovingly swept.

Past the beating and carrying His cross,
The nails were harshly driven,
Like a ship on the sea we were helplessly tossed,
But guidance is what we were given.
Led like a sheep to His violent slaughter,
As we are molded like clay by a potter,

Moving on, He said, “It’s finished,”
And He was left to die Alone.
And for the sins that this inhibits,
Only He could truly atone.

Now the cross always stands firm,
In remembrance of the beloved man,
And through His life we try to learn
True resemblance to His helping hand.
He’s the One who gave us everything,
All because He loved us.
And now our sins are what He’s carrying,
In His perfect home above us.
I try to think of all He gave us:
Much more than our lives could ever fill.
I now think back to how He saved us
On the top of a foggy hill.