Who is man when left to himself? When his fears and pressures are stored on the shelf?
Who is man when left on the seas, alone on the mountains, alone on his knees?
Who is man when he is empty of hope? When he is found grimy under water and filthy with soap?
Who is man when he has drawn his doors?When he has draped his windows and dirtied his floors?
This man was me.
Who is this man who knocks at my door? Who rolls away my sorrow and sings away my sores?Who is this man who knows my pain? Who lifts my burdens and calls out my name?
Who is this man whose robe is white? Yet stained in crimson ever so bright.
Who is this man who gave me breath? Who triumphed over tears and conquered over death?
This man is Jesus