FORGIVENESS! what a precious word!
So very full of love,
The kindest I have ever heard
Who did its sweetness prove.
The purchase of my Saviour’s blood
Forgiveness is assured,
Its spring the very heart of God,
Which my poor heart allured.
The perfect work whereby ‘twas wrought
He had Himself designed,
(He knew our doings all are naught,)
And satisfied His mind.
Thus pardon met our very need,
As helpless, hopeless, we
Were cast on One who fain would bleed
To end our misery.
Without a word in self-defense,
We had no works to show,
God blotted out our dire offense
For Christ endured the woe.
The prodigal in view of it
Retraced his weary steps,
And learned its consummation sweet
Upon his father’s lips.
“I will arise,” the spendthrift said,
“And to my father go,
With all my sins upon my head,”
And fast the tear-drops flow.
But will a sire receive a son
Who caused his heart such grief?
Conflicting thoughts arise, but one
Yields somewhat of relief.
“I will a hireling’s office seek,
To earn a crust of bread;
Maybe he will e’en pardon speak
To one so nearly dead.”
Come to himself, he turns and leaves
Those scenes of sin and shame,
In his sire’s “goodness” he believes―
Will call upon his name.
While yet a great way off, behold,
The parent’s eye discerns
The one to sin and folly sold,
Who now his misery learns.
With beating heart the father runs
Swift to that moral wreck, ―
That faded figure is his son’s―
And falls upon his neck.
Kiss follows kiss in quick descent,
A long-sought joy is gained,
Parental love now finds its vent,
Nor can it be restrained.
Unseen adoring angels stand
In presence of such love,
The deep joy felt on every hand
Pervades the scene above.
The fatted calf, so long reserved
For some dear, honored guest,
Is killed for him, and straightway served,
That guest has come―the best.
“‘Twas meet that we should merry be,
And glad,” the father said,
“For he is found, once lost to me,
He lives who once was dead.”
Thus all the joy and all the love
Is here most strangely seen,
In Him―enthroned in light above―
Who had offended been.
‘Twas His desire, ‘twas His delight
To win that lost one o’er,
And make his life with blessings bright,
That he might stray no more.
Oh, sinners, would ye but believe
How God, in richest grace,
Delights to pardon and receive
All those that seek His face,
Ye would not your return delay
For one brief moment more,
But turn to God this very day,
And His blest name adore.
C. E. P.