ONE SUNDAY evening a young fellow was walking along the street when he was greeted by a peon who stopped him and thrust a small slip of paper into his hand. He took it, and read, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” A sneer passed over his face, and he hastened on.
" ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, They shall be as white as snow,’ doesn’t apply to me at any rate, for I am an infidel, and do not believe anything of the kind,” thought he.
" ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ Hang the thing; I can’t get rid of it... Sins? Conscience? ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ I am an infidel,” he insisted, stamping his foot; “I neither believe in the Bible, the God of the Bible, the future, nor anything beyond the still, dark grave. So here’s for a short life and a merry one.”
" ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ Confound it! I wish I could get the whole thing out of my head. Given, for the sake of argument, that it is true, and that a God exists, I can easily understand religious people who believe in a future, either of joy or suffering, clinging to such ideas according to their belief.
" ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ Admirable writing. Terse, forcible language; I wonder who wrote it? God, I suppose. God? — why, there is no God. I forget myself. If I could only remember my principles, and how logical and well founded the argents are which support them, I should be all right... ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ Oh! this troublesome thing; will nothing put a stop to it?... Oh, there is a gospel service; I’ll turn in and hear what they say.”
He entered, and was given a seat by the door. The preacher had just read the text, paused a moment, then in a gentle voice he repeated the words: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” Isa. 1:1818Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. (Isaiah 1:18).
That evening, there was one young fellow who said, with contrite heart, “Lord Jesus, though my sins be dyed deeper than the deepest scarlet, wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.”
EV’RY morning the red sun
Rises warm and bright;
But the evening cometh on,
And the dark cold night;
There’s a bright land far away,
Where ’tis never-ending day.
Little birds sing songs of praise
All the summer long;
But in colder, shorter days,
They forget their song
There’s a place where children sing
Ceaseless praises to the King.
The blood of Jesus Christ... cleanseth us from all sin
My lips shall praise Thee
ML-02/07/1971