The Mountain
On the God Who Came Down to Us
The Mountain
Up the mount, I grasp and strive
gasping for a breath, I climb
but ‘neath my feet, rocks slip and fall—
I tumble down the mountain’s wall.
I weep, now in the valley deep.
With bruised and aching, bleeding feet.
Preparing for another climb
when comes an echo from on high.
From far above the mountain’s peak,
I hear the thundering Heavens speak.
A flash of light beyond the clouds,
then roars a voice, “I’m coming down.”
Another blinding flash of light,
then He appears in robes of white.
He gazes up the jagged climb,
and says “For this, I gave my life.”
Darkness falls, then comes the dawn.
A hill sits low— the mountain, gone.
In the center, stands a cross.
He gently says, “I paid the cost.”
I hit my knees, face to the ground,
then hear an old, familiar sound.
Thunder rumbling far and wide,
I look up— Christ is in the sky.
The Son calls down from far above,
“I’ll see you soon, my little one.”
(Bonus Content) The Mountain I Could Not Climb:
A Story of Pride, Grace, and Living Hope
Cover art: “Sunrise on the Matterhorn” by Albert Bierstadt (1875)
The meter in your poem is impeccable. I read "From far above the mountain’s peak" incorrectly at first as "Far from above . . . " but the rhythm of "From far above . . . " the way you wrote it is much better than my misreading. I'm guessing you wrote and revised this poem more than two or three times before the version you posted here which flows efforlessly.
Oh I love this. I love that He came down, paid the price, made the mountain a hill, turned the darkness to dawn. I love it all. What a beautiful picture.