The Stained, Yet Cleansed
By Delwin Rees Buckner
SOME beads, like amethysts, lay on the snow,
The drops of life-blood, drained from crippled hare,
Or bird, sore wounded in the wintry air
By arrow shot from cruel hunter’s bow.
The vivid story of its throbbing pain
Upon the pure white ice was plainly traced;
Yet snowflakes of the roseate dawn effaced
With spotless robe the scarlet-colored stain.
So we ourselves are sometimes wounded, too,
And sadly blemished by some evil dart
Until our life seems ruined in our view,
Yet God can change sin’s awful purple hue,
Can cleanse again the spotted, blotted heart,
And change the old life to the ransomed new.