K G B

The stripes were swollen, bloody trails
        across his flesh-torn back;
That day he'd been whipped brutally,
        but still he wouldn't crack.
They tried to make him say the things
        he told were all a lie;
But his confessing Christ was something
        he would not deny.
He'd been a member of the chosen
        much-feared K.G.B.
But now, a Christian in a cell,
        he prayed on bended knee.
He'd chanced one day to hear a stranger
        speak the gospel word,
And in his soul the calling of
        a Risen Christ was heard.
The weight of sin was gone; he felt
        a strange new realization,
And everyone he met he told
        how they could know salvation.
The news spread fast - he must be stopped-
        and quickly he was jailed.
But now for many days, attempts
        to change him all had failed.
Each day the ones assigned to torture
        worked with added zeal;
Each night within his cell he felt
        new pain where flesh they'd peel.
He'd not admit a lie no matter
        how much flesh they'd tear,
But after many days he felt
        his strength begin to wear
He prayed each night and guardian angels
        ministered heavenly care;
And each day he withstood the tortures
        far beyond compare.
But finally he was at his end;
        he'd used up all his power.
He prayed, "Dear Lord, I can't stand more-;;
        not even one more hour."
He said, "tomorrow when they come
        I'll do just as they tell,
But please be understanding, Lord,
        and save my soul from hell.
You know how much I love You
        and how very hard I've tried;
I guess I'm  just not strong enough!"
        He then laid down and cried.
Next morning when his cell was opened,
        there he lay stone dead,
No frown or fear upon his face -
        a smile they saw instead.
His hands were framed in praying,
        folded neatly on his chest;
The Lord had come that night and brought
        him peaceful heavenly  rest.
His final statement - viewed in awe -
        they stared at from the hall:. . . .
With his own blood. . . . he'd boldly drawn. . .
        a cross. . . . upon the wall!!!!!

by Ron Baron
1205 Main
Brownwood, Texas  76801
shirleyb@web-access.net
http://www.angelfire.com/tx/ronbaron
Used with Permission