Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.

— Hebrews 10:19-22 (ESV)

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”
— Romans 8:15 (ESV)

O Thou who dwell’st in unapproached light,
Eternal, holy, clothed in majesty,
Before whose throne the seraphim take flight
And veil their faces from Thy purity—
Yet Thou hast bid Thy children draw anear,
Not as base slaves with trembling and with fear,
But as the sons whom blood hath made most dear.

Once stood the veil, a dread dividing wall,
Where sin’s dark shadow barred the sinner’s way;
The priest alone might tremble at Thy call,
And even he with incense veiled the day.
But lo! the Lamb upon the cursed tree
Hath rent that curtain from the topmost height—
Top to the base, in one swift act of might.

The barrier falls; the way is open wide.
No more the servant’s grovelling, no more
The distant bow, the formulaic tide
Of measured words upon a distant shore.
Now boldly to the throne of grace we press,
Not trusting self, but Christ’s own righteousness,
And cry “Abba, Father!” in free address.

What reverence deeper than a child’s embrace?
What honor greater than to trust Thy love?
The prodigal returns not with downcast face,
But runs to arms that wait from heav’n above.
Thou runnest first—O mystery divine!—
The Father meets the son with open grace,
And calls him home where fear can ne’er confine.

No casual breach of Thy unchanging throne,
But holy converse born of Calvary’s blood.
The cross hath satisfied what law made known;
Now awe is sweetened in the Father’s flood.
Speak freely, soul: Thy groans, Thy joys, Thy tears—
He hears them all, and counts them precious spheres,
For Jesus’ sake, who dried Thy former fears.

Thou art not smaller for this nearness won,
Nor I grown bold beyond my blood-bought place.
Thy holiness remains the noonday sun;
Yet in its light I see Thy smiling face.
The King of kings is still the King of kings,
Yet stoops to hear the least of earthly things—
A Father’s heart in everlasting springs.

So let my prayer be conversation sweet,
Not performance cold, nor slavish tone,
But honest talk where love and reverence meet,
The child made bold because the veil is gone.
For Thou hast not changed roles with shifting mood;
Thou ever Holy, ever Father good—
And I, by grace, am welcome where I stood.

The cross made God no smaller in His might;
It lifted me from distance into light.
Closeness was ever heaven’s chief delight.