Poem- "The Call"

Perhaps someday I'll post about the circumstances during which God placed this poem on my heart, but for now, I pray that God uses it to speak to you as He used it to speak to me. My poems are not really mine; they are His gifts to me when I need them desperately.

"The Call"

Can I withhold a part of me from Him who gave His all?
Can I shrink back and hide my face when I should hear His call?
What might He ask of me, so dear, to which my heart must cling?
Is anything too much to give for Him, my bleeding King?
It was no path of comfort walked by Christ, the Lord of all.
The throne of heav'n He left behind, born in a humble stall.
He had no palace rich and grand, no life of ease He led.
No, my dear Savior had no place to lay His weary head.
No jeweled robes clothed His worthy frame, ne'er did the masses bow.
Instead, it was a crown of thorns which graced His holy brow.
That voice, so mighty, strong and grand, which caused the earth to quake
Cried out in anguish from the cross, where He suffered for my sake.
And now He calls me to this narrow road of sacrifice.
Can I see Him dying on the cross and cry, "Too great a price"?
No, nothing is to much to give to Him who gave His all.
And so, by grace, I'll not shrink back, and I will heed His call.