Repentant by L. M. Chaffee

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Nov 21, 1878

Repentant.

By L. M. Chaffee

"I KNOW him not!" Alas, my heart, could it so faithless be, So soon forgetful of my Lord and all he did for me, That it should let my cursed lips that coward falsehood tell, Denying the forsaken One who loved us all so well— Our nation's God-appointed Christ, to whom, one blessed day These three eventful years ago, my brother led my way— The Master, at whose gracious call, that "Come and follow me," We left at once our nets, our ship, our sea of Galilee! I knew Him not, the royal Guest, whose presence graced my home, Whose healing hand wrought blessing there and strength for days to come— The heavenly Teacher, wise and kind, who held me by his word Till all the depth of all my soul with mystic longings stirred; Who gave me apostolic place among the twelve He sent To preach the heavenly kingdom near, and bid the Jews repent; To heal the sick, and raise the dead and make the devils flee; Remembering "who heareth you, heareth also me;" I knew not Him whose "Peace, be still" once hushed the tempest's might— Who trod the Galilean lake upon that angry night, And with his hand upheld my own, when, walking at his word, With sinking faith and feet, afraid, I cried, "O save me, Lord!" Who in the desert blest and broke a little fish and bread, And therewith so abundantly five hungry thousands fed— Who made me go with baited hook and cast it in the lake, And from the captured fish's mouth our tribute-money take! I knew not Him, the Son of God, so glorified that day When up that hallowed mountain-side he led us three away, When such unearthly glory shone those holy features o'er, And so surpassing white became the raiment Jesus wore!— Our friend indeed, who called us his—our Sacrifice divine, Who broke to us the paschal bread, and blessed to us the wine— To whose own prophecy of shame and death upon the tree My hasty spirit made reply, "This shall not be to thee!" Yes, weep, my eyes, oh, bitterly! such careless watch I kept For Jesus in Gethsemane, and, while he suffered, slept! Be humbled now, my braggart tongue—my boast comes back to me— Alas for such a boast as that, "My Lord, I'll die with thee!" Break, O my traitorous heart, for grief; and bow, my head, for shame, That I the knowledge should deny of that exalted Name! Yet be not hopeless quite, my soul--nay--nay--it can but be That love was even in that look the Master cast on me! —L. M. Chaffee, in Springfield Republican.