LUKE VII.
He needed not a word to tell
The measure of her grief,—
Those sorrows that would ever swell,
And vainly seek relief:
For there is not in human woe,
Whatever we may feel,
One anguish that He does not know,
One wound He cannot heal.
He knew the sadness and the smart,
The heavy load of sin,
That pressed the sinner-woman’s heart
As she was entering in:
No words could speak her hopes or fears,
His willing ear to greet;
She therefore brought her sins and tears,
And rained them on His feet.
She dared not look up to His face,
Or lift her guilty head;
But He, in rich abounding grace,
Was soon to speak instead:
Now let the storm of conflict cease
Within this heir of heaven;
“ Thy faith path saved thee; go in peace:
Thy sins are all forgiven.”
No words could tell the bliss that filled
The sinner-woman’s breast,
When His forgiving voice had stilled
Her conflict into rest:
For there are times when human praise
Is so surpassing sweet,
It cannot speak or sing, but lays
Its music at His feet.
Lord, may this happy lot be mine,
As hers in days of old,
To hear that gentle voice of Thine,
And taste Thy love untold:
Enough if here on earth I know
The joy of sin forgiven;
For what I cannot speak below
Shall all be told in heaven.
WLLIAM WILEMAN.
October 13th, 1900