Mock-er-y

One. You mock me, shame me, spit on me; You deny my humanity and curse me. You cannot see past my dark hue. Two. You mock Him who made me By burning that cross on my lawn. You do not see to His heart. Three. You mock the law, your job, By coming secretly in the night. Yet the bullets awake the world, And the flames evince your impure cones. Four. You mock life and you hang me; My neck is in a tree, Snapped. But my glazed eyes Observe your emptiness. I am sorry. The funny thing is My father was white like you, Pale as this paper, But he had love and the courage to live it. The funny thing is That I forgive you, For Jesus' blood Covered my own mocking sins; The least I can do is reciprocate that. The funny thing is Your mockery is shallow; Though sword-like now, It will fade in the coming years and you will know it. One, Two, Three, Four. Your sins are no more in Jesus. Even the mockery of life, human like yours, Can be forgiven, Completely, For we all mocked Him, the Sovereign God. But He mercifully showed love. One, two, three, four. That cross before my door Cries out to you: Despite your mockery He loves.