The Old Rugged Cross

by George Bennard

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, 

the emblem of suffering and shame; 

and I love that old cross where the dearest and best

for a world of lost sinners was slain.

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,

has a wondrous attraction for me;

for the dear Lamb of God left his glory above

to bear it to dark Calvary.

What Price Freedom!

"And I say, oh that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. Yes, I would wander far away, I would lodge in the wilderness. Selah! I would hasten to escape and to find shelter from the stormy wind and tempest" (Psalm 55:6-8).

I close my eyes and meditate on these words. As I meditate, I feel as if I'm slowly shedding every care, "every encumbrance (unnecessary weight) which so readily (deftly and cleverly) clings to and entangles me" (Heb. 12 1c AMP). Suddenly, I am one with the Dove, soaring across the heavens. As I indulge my new found freedom, I test my wings; descending and ascending, around, up, down. With all of the excitement and continual somersaulting, I begin to tire. The sky looks funny, as if a storm is brewing. Look, a hill! I think I'll rest under that tree. So much noise. No one will notice if I rest here a moment.