Tags
bible, Biblical Truth, Christian, Christian Poetry, christianity, faith, Inpirational, Inspirational, jesus, Poetry, Praise, theology
O Thou who seest not as mortal eyes,
Nor weighs the soul by merit’s fragile scale,
But lookest through the veil where Jesus dies,
And finds in Him the worth that cannot fail—
What though my hands be stained, my steps unsure,
My heart a field half-tilled and overgrown?
Thou countest not the debts I still endure,
For on the Cross Thy reckoning was done.
“Beloved Son,” the heavens once proclaimed,
And now in Him I stand, by grace made one.
The aroma sweet of Christ, not mine, is named;
In that sweet savour Thou delightest, Son.
No thunderous voice of wrath pursues my shame,
But Zephaniah’s song breaks forth in glee:
The Lord in midst of me, exulting flame,
Rejoices with loud singing over me.
My sins, like scattered clouds, are blown away;
No ledger dark records what Christ has paid.
Thou art not wroth when I in weakness stray—
Thy love abounds, slow anger, quick to aid.
I am Thy child, not striving to become;
The Father’s love hath called me what I am.
No better self awaits a fuller sum—
I rest in what the finished work hath won.
Then let me cease from toil to earn Thy smile,
And walk as one already well approved.
The pressure falls; instead, a holy guile—
To live from favour, not for it be moved.
O God, who in Thy Son art pleased with me,
Though I see naught but failure in my glass,
Let this truth shine: Thy pride is full and free,
Rooted in Christ, and changeless as Thou art.
For nothing in my past or present frame
Can dim the glory of redeeming grace.
I am accepted in the Beloved’s name—
And in that name, I find my resting place.
Passionately Pursuing Christ 