Rescued from the dunghill, sad wretch as I,
Cleaned and He dressed me, for my sins He died.
His presence surrounded, as a pungent perfume,
In Him I rested, as a Bride with her Groom.
In my love He gloried, and treasured my hand,
With Him I've walked, through many desert land.
My place was secure, and I knew His favour,
But I all too soon, forgot His sweet savour.
"Christ does not need me," I reasoned within,
"Such a man as He, needs no one with Him."
But my presence He noticed, acutely aware,
That my love for Him, was no longer there.
Because of my sin, He could not draw nigh,
And from a distance, I could hear Jesus cry.
"How can this be?" I asked in surprise,
"How can God, have tears in His eyes?"
A hushed voice, sounded from above,
The Spirit reminded, "Herein is love,"
"Sparing not His Son, His love acted thus,
Not that we loved Him, but that He loved us."
What great shame, flooded my heart,
Guilt pierced me, as a well aimed dart.
When I sunk to the ground, laying prostrate,
Jesus drew nigh, and beheld my sad state.
"My Father spared not," I heard His voice say,
"He wanted us together, for now and alway."
He held out His hand, (such a warm, friendly hand),
And by His loving strength, He helped me to stand.
Now, when temptation, tempts me to sin,
How fast I remember, Christ's grief within.
