Our Righteous Advocate

The other day, I came across this poem in the magazine, 'Current.' It's from the mid 1800's so it is in the public domain and I could not resist sharing. Wow!

Our Righteous Advocate

Father, I bring this worthless child to Thee,

To claim Thy pardon, once, yet once again.

Receive him at my hand, for he is mine.

He is a worthless child; he owns his fault;

Look not on him, he will not bear the glance;

Look but on me, I'll hide his filthy garments.

He pleads not for himself--he dares not plead:

His cause is mine--I am his Intercessor.

By that unchanged, unchanging love of Thine,

By each pure drop of blood I shed for him,

By all the sorrows graven on my soul.

By every wound I bear, I claim it true.

Father Divine! I would not have him lost;

He is a worthless child, but he is mine!

Sin hath destroyed him--sin hath died in me;

Satan hath bound him--Satan is my slave;

Death hath desired him--I have conquered death.

My Father, hear him now--not him, but me;

I would not have him lost for all the worlds

Which Thou hast long created for my glory,

Because he is a poor, a worthless child,

And all--his every hope--on me it lies.

I know my children, and I know him mine.

By all his tears he weeps upon my bosom,

By his full heart that beateth against mine,

I know him by the sign my children bear,

That trusting love by which he cleaves to me.

I could not bear to see him cast away,

Vile as he is! the weakest of my flock,

The one that grieves me most and loves me least.

Yes! tho' his sins dim every spark of love,

I measure not my love by his returns,

And though the stripes I send to bring him home

Should seem to drive him further from my arms,

Still he is mine! I lured him from the world.

He has no right, no home, but in my love.

Tho' earth and hell combined against him rise,

I'm bound to rescue him, for we are one.

Oh, sinner! What an Advocate is thine;

Methinks I see Him lead the captive in,

Poor, sorrowful, ashamed, trembling with fear,

Shrinking behind his Lord, accused, condemned,

Well pleased to hide the form himself abhors

With that all-spotless garment of his Friend.

But look! some secret impulse lifts his eye,

To see if love be mingled now with wrath,

If mercy beams upon the Father's face.

Poor sinner! read thy welcome in that smile,

And hear the Father's word to Him for thee:

"Take Thy poor, worthless child! I have forgiven."

-E. Berrill