Through gloom’s fierce grip, sins sear a scarlet flood,
A molten chain on hearts in torment bound,
Each scar a cry where shadows spill their blood,
A storm unleashed on souls in anguish drowned.
“Though sins be as scarlet,” Christ declares,
A snow-king’s might flows from His riven side,
Flakes gleam to purge those stains with Heaven’s chandelier,
“They are as white as snow,” His voice decides.
The ravaged earth bows to His holy stride,
Where guilt once burned, now drifts in triumph rise,
A victor’s veil, by pierced hands glorified,
Entombs all shame beneath His pure disguise.
His word, a throne, bids scarlet stains retreat,
Sins fade to snow through Christ’s redeeming feat.