My Love is like the red, red rose,
Pierced against His tree;
My Love is like an open book,
His life poured out for me.
His love comes flowing from His wounds,
To meet the hurt around,
The life force of the universe,
Poured out upon the ground.
How must His heart be torn in two,
For those who do not know,
They’ve only heard of what He did,
Not that He loves them so.
How must He long for them to know,
The love He bears for them,
A love that would enable Him,
To do it all again.
But it was done upon the Cross,
The first time that He died,
And lightning rent the sky in two
As all of heaven cried.
The angels cried for God the son,
Brought by mankind so low,
The love He has for all mankind,
Was more than they could know.
For love’s become polluted,
As shown upon earth,
And it is only purified,
At the time of our second birth.
We’re born into His love again,
Washed clean in the precious flow,
Commissioned and constrained by Him,
To tell this love we know
© Ailsa Yates 24/3/2001