Tree

He climbed up in that tree
And from that hill, the third of three,
He could see the miles, from sea to a sea.
He could see the past, the present, and me.
And while he rested on that tree
He breathed at last, and His spirit did flee.
And from his hand, his brow and feet
A drop dripped down through eternity
And his blood reached a little sinner, me.
Some called the hill of the tree, Calvary.
But today, the tree just calls me, 'Free.'