Death in His Grave.

It still blows my mind: even Death bows to the King. I know you're probably all getting tired of my McMillan posts, but I just wanted to share a song that has blessed me this past week, and I know will continue to do so in the week leading up to Easter.

Though the Earth cried out for blood;
satisfied her hunger was.
Her billows calmed on raging seas,
for the souls on men she craved.

Sun and moon from balcony
turned their head in disbelief.
Their precious Love would taste the sting,
disfigured and disdained.

On Friday a thief;
on Sunday a King;
laid down in grief,
but awoke with keys
of Hell on that day.
The first born of the slain,
the man, Jesus Christ,
laid death in his grave.

So three days in darkness slept
the Morning Sun of righteousness,
but rose to shame the throes of death
and over turn his rule.

Now daughters and the sons of men
would pay not their dues again.
The debt of blood they owed was rent,

when the day rolled a new.

He has cheated

Hell and seated
us above the fall.

In desperate places,

He paid our wages

one time once and for all.