(: A dear friend of mine share this poem with me & I would like to share with you :)
A poem about " ONE SOLITARY LIFE "
He was born in an obscure village, the Child of a peasant woman. He grew up in yet another small village, where He toiled as a carpenter, until He was
thirty years of age. Then, for three years He was an
intinerant preacher, and a champion of unpopular causes. He numbered among His friends the sick, the destitute, and the weak.
He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family, and He never owned a house. He never went to college, and infact -- He never traveled more than two hundred miles from the place He was born. He did none of the things one usually associates with greatness. He had no credentials, but Himself.
He was only thirty-three when the tide of
public opinion turned against Him, His friends deserted Him, and turned Him over to His
enemies, where He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves, and as He was dying. His executioners gambled for His clothing -- the only property He had on this earth.
When He was dead, He was laid to rest in a borrowed grave, through the pity of a friend.
Almost two thousand years have come and gone, and still today He remains the central figure of the human race and the Savior of mankind throughout the world.
All the armies that ever marched,
All the navies that ever sailed,
All the parliaments that ever sat, and
All the kings that ever reigned --
Put together --
Have not affected the life of mankind on this earth
as
much as that
" One Solitary Life ".
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