THE INTERCESSOR

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 11, 1900

FATHER, I bring this worthless child to thee, To claim thy pardon once, yet once again; Receive him at my hands; for he is mine. He is a worthless child, he owns his guilt; Look not on him: he can not bear thy glance; Look thou on me: his vileness I will hide. He pleads not for himself — he dares not plead; His cause is mine: I am his advocate. By that unchanged, unchanging oath of mine, By each pure drop of blood I lost for him, By all the sorrows graven on my soul, By every wound I bear, I claim it due. Father divine, I can not have him lost! He is a worthless soul, but he is mine. Sin hath destroyed him; sin hath died in me: Death hath pursued him; I have conquered death: Satan hath bound him; Satan is my slave. My Father, hear him not, not him, but me; I would not have him lost for all the world Thou, for my glory, hast ordained and made, Because he is a poor and contrite child, And all — his very hope — on me reclines. I know my children, and I know him mine, By all the tears he weeps upon my bosom, By his full heart that beateth against mine; I know him by his sighing and his prayers, By his deep, trusting love which clings to me. I could not bear to see him cast away, Weak as he is, the weakest of my flock,— The one that grieves me most, that loves me least,— Yea, though his sins should dim each spark of love. I measure not my love by his returns; And though the stripes I send to speed him home, Drive him upon the instant from my breast, Still he is mine. I drew him from the world; He has no right, no home, but in my love; Though earth and hell against his soul conspire, I shield him; save him; keep him; we are one.

O sinner! what an Advocate hast thou! Methinks I see him lead the culprit in, Poor, sorrowing, shamed, all tremulous with fear, Prostrate behind his Lord, weak, self-condemned, Clad with the Saviour's spotless righteousness Himself to hide, and hear the Father's words: My Son! his cause is thine, and thine is mine; Take up the poor lost one: he is forgiven!

—New York Observer.