1.0 rich hearthis.at https://hearthis.at 150 100% In broken streets where sirens cry, Where silent tears are left to dry, In weary eyes that beg for bread, The Cross is raised, not cold, not dead. In trembling hands that grope for light, In endless days and sleepless nights, The nails are driven, slow and deep— Into the flesh that cannot weep. Not only once on Calvary’s hill, Not locked in time, not standing still. The Passion walks through history’s door, And bleeds upon the shattered floor. **Still crucified among the poor, Still begging at the closed-up door. In every outcast, crushed and torn, The Son of Man is crowned with thorns. Yet from the grave a promise rises high: That perfect love was never born to die. Where hope seems buried, life begins— The Resurrection breathes within.** In crowded camps and border lines, In hidden rooms where shadows shine, In children robbed of stolen years, In mothers worn by heavy fears, The wood is rough, the sky grows dim, The ancient hymn grows faint and thin. A thirsty voice still whispers, “Why?” As justice turns a blinded eye. The body broken is not alone, For every wound is heaven’s own. What’s done to the least and to the small Is laid before the heart of all. **Still crucified among the poor, Still begging at the closed-up door. In every prisoner, sick and shamed, The Holy One is bruised, unnamed. Yet from the grave a promise rises high: That perfect love was never born to die. Where death has spoken, light begins— The Resurrection stirs within.** There is a garden past the night, There is a dawn beyond the fight. The buried seed, the shattered grain, Will rise through sorrow, loss, and pain. The hands once pierced now lift the weak, The risen breath gives voice to speak. No grave can hold what love has sown— No tear is lost, no cry unknown. In simple acts of bread once shared, In patient hearts that choose to care, In steadfast love that stands nearby, Refusing to just look away, The stone begins to roll aside, And morning breaks the dark of night. For every cross the poor endure Becomes a path to make us pure. **Still crucified among the poor, Still begging at the closed-up door. In every prisoner, sick and shamed, The Holy One is bruised, unnamed. Yet from the grave a promise rises high: That perfect love was never born to die. Where death has spoken, light begins— The Resurrection stirs within.** **Still crucified among the poor, The ones the world denied their worth. In every life despised, denied, The Living Christ is crucified. But Easter breathes where wounds have been— A fire no darkness can contain. The poor shall rise, their chains undone; The morning breaks, the night is gone.** https://img.hearthis.at/5/6/0/_/uploads/11371644/image_track/13895145/w1200_h628_q70_ptrue_v2_m1771568892----cropped_1771568888065.jpg?m=1771568892 1200 628 ]]> Chento https://hearthis.at/chento/