Wednesday, 26 October 2011


If Grace rowed to me
in my struck brig
I found that Grace
had watched for me before.
If Grace had set the light
to my distant ship
Grace set the fire
for my rescued self.
When I turned my back
on the sun
Next morning there it was
blazing in my face.
Before Grace nursed me
to good health
It was Grace whose scalpel
had wounded me.
When grace upon grace
pulsed through my arteries
It was Grace which held
the syringe.
If Grace fed me richly
in the Father’s house
Grace in the far country
had brought my famine.
Though Grace gave me rags
in the far country
Come into the Father’s house
it clothed me richly.
While Grace made me know sonship
in the Father’s house
Grace had seen, in the far country,
me as a son.
After Grace comforted me
when I was sad
Grace preserved me
when I was happy.
If Grace provided a repast,
free of labour,
Grace taught me how to hunt,
to flay and to cook.
Since Grace guided me
in sowing
Grace helped me
in harvesting.
How right that when Grace
paid dearly for my ransom
Grace should acquire me
as its bondman.
As it was Grace that filled me
with the new wine
It was Grace that created
my new skin.

1 comment:

I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!