PENITENCE

A poem.

Your imperfection shall have no power to damn you,

for Christ's perfection is reputed to be yours by faith. —John Knox.

O mother-dear, a weeping man let me be;
For a sinful wretch you’ve conceived me.
   My deceiving heart is torn with guilt, 
   And my poor spirit is broken and contrite.
Indeed! My heart dost weep so, indeed;
   O has my heart e’er wept as this before?
I see the harmony of the attributes of God,
   An’ I see the depravity of my heart now.

Mine own transgressions have me accursed!
I fear I am e’er lost, if I be not saved;
   All my straying and erring have me regret,
   My sins like storms in my soul buffet.
In vain have I labored to mend my soul;
   For by the labor of flesh, I could not atone. 
But he that bore my sin, my curse and my woe, 
   He alone can save me, ‘tis Christ alone.

So I pondered, “should I then die in sin? 
O how unrepentant of I! Should I then 
   Doubt in pleading for God’s mercy with 
   Suppliant heart for the sins of my youth
Gone unrepented?O such an unbelief!"
   If I’ve no Christ, (What hope is left for I?)
Who is to bestow to my bitter distress relief? 
   Who’s to mend my soul and my heart purify? 

Hark, O soul! Behold the living Word!
Sharper than any double-edged sword.
   Lift your weary face and look unto Christ
   In Zion on His mercy-seat and He behest
Ye to repent, ye hapless suppliant wretch.
   O, merciful LORD! Thou merciful God, 
How can I see thee, if I cling not to Christ? 
   Thou holy, consuming fire have me dread.

elm.