(Theft of the Mojave Cross)
I stood (a silent sentinel,
A record of the past)
Beneath the stars, on desert sand,
Through the sun's bright blast.
A mark of freedom's infamy,
To prove the cost is high;
And that, for some, to keep us free,
A lot of soldiers die.
I never spoke, or forced myself
On these brave comrades, dear.
Some come back to remember;
Some lie, forever, here.
I stood tall, like a general,
To troops of smaller crosses.
Some say that I reminded them
Of vast un-numerable losses.
So why was I offensive?
Or why was I revered?
Two worlds divide the answers:
One shunned, the other cheered.
There was another cross that stood
Upon a hill, one day.
When He cried, "It is finished,"
They took that, too, away.
But though it's gone, there still remains
(In hearts of all believers),
An ugly cross, endeared by love,
To thankful forgiven receivers.
And those, who know the verses well,
Know how God is pleased
To take the foolish things of Earth
And bring men to their knees.
© Joan Clifton Costner
Used With Permission
All Rights Reserved By Author