Thomas The Disciple

I'm Thomas the disciple, I tell you no lie,
When it comes to facts as straight as a dye.
Some people tell stories I find hard to receive
I need smell, taste or touch, before I believe.

I arrived at our refuge away from the Jews,
My fellow disciples told me their good news.
'Jesus had risen and appeared in that room,
Offering His peace,' totally lifting their gloom.

Showed them His hands and wound in His side,
Breathed on them asked 'the Spirit to reside."
I wasn't there, could not accept all their tales.
Need hand to touch side, put finger where nails.

One short week later, He came once again.
'Look here, Thomas, you can see me quite plain,
Stretch out your finger, my side put your hand
Understand, Thomas, what Father has planned.'

I tell you friends, it was a feeling most odd,
Being confronted with my Lord and my God.
'Thomas,' He stated, 'seeing the truth, you receive,
Blessed are they, though not seeing, believe.