Well of Grace

We are all born sinners.  None of us are exempt from this debilitating fact.  Dark creatures we are, hiding amongst hardened “rock hearts” and stinging weeds.  Not one of us is good, not by our own stout.  Our legs are weak and our arms are limp with guilt.  In us, ebon souls like cave coal.  We are filthy rags, waiting to be washed clean of blackened wrongs.  Lowly people we are, waiting to be restored.  Purified from foulness?  Yes, we can be cleansed of all this vile clay.  How?  By the grace of God, we can be redeemed! 

God’s grace is like pure water at the bottom of a mossy well.  The refreshing, calm stillness calls, waiting for our wretched hands to pull up “born-again bucket”.  Our feet walk through “lost wildwood”.  We trek, run, crawl, looking for “found meadow”.  Mire and wicked muck cover the “soul path” while we search for everlasting waters.  “Doubting dust” blinds our eyes to the glorious, renewing of the christened cross. 

Grow faith seeds along the trail to hidden, yet seen “well of grace”.  The refreshing, sanctifying savior is softly calling from the well waters.  “Tis here!” He calls.  To “well of grace” make haste, do not take slowly pace.  Take a saving taste!  Dip hands in holy waters.  Wash face clean of old.  Well echoes, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, you’re free at last!” 

 

Well of Grace

I come to the well of dewy grace

Violet vines twist and knot

preventing a sweetened,

newborn taste

Rose thorns of folly past

prick and nick,

guilt marks scar

Rags of filth and wicked mire

are my dreadful sire

My aged, sinful hands

are my bolts and templates

What evil coils and lowly bands!

Unworthy, nettlesome weed am I!

I? Come before this gracious well?

Blackened, smudged sinner, wretched

I? Come before holy mist?

Treading through defiled grove

Satan cunningly lurks

“Sinner, so fruitless.

Worthless wormwood maple!

Frost-death peach tree!

Crumbling trespasser,

splintering transgressor,

shamefully dying.”

Bold-face lies! Must be curt!

Come to bucket of snowy gospel

Tear, shear briar of deceit

“I am the way, the truth, and the light.”

Well of grace, commandingly speaks

I, forgiven sinner

humble and meek

Finally, grace and mercy

my drink

Well of grace

My submissive soul

makes haste!

Sublime nectarous taste!