The Lamb And The Wolves

There’s a lamb in the meadow, pure and small,

With eyes like fire, but the gentlest call.

He walked with twelve through the valleys and shade,

Teaching of light and the price to be paid.

Twelve little lambs by His side each day,

Learning His love as they followed His way.

But one slipped off in the dark of the night,

And led the wolves by the flicker of light.

Oh the lamb, oh the lamb, so fearless and still,

Faced the fangs of Rome on a silent hill.

With a kiss from a friend, He was dragged away—

Thrown to the wolves where the strong prey.

The wolves wore armor and cold iron blades,

They laughed at His truth, and mocked as He prayed.

One called Pilate washed both hands and soul,

Too scared of the crowd to make justice whole.

He stood there alone while the pack circled in,

Tore at His flesh, made a crown from sin.

But He never cried out, nor cursed their breath,

He met every bite with love unto death.

Oh the lamb, oh the lamb, laid down and slain,

Blood on the stones, in the wind and the rain.

Betrayed by His own, yet He still forgave—

Now there’s freedom that flows from an empty grave.

So when you hear wolves howlin’ near to your door,

Remember the Lamb who opened the door.

To a meadow of mercy, where grace runs deep—

Where the Lamb once died, so the lost could sleep.