I T is a god-like task to intercede,
The weak to raise, and close the wounds that bleed:
Not all the virtues Nature ever gave,
That want a heart the perishing to save,
Can find acceptance at the aweful throne
Of Him who died for culprits to atone.
" To Heaven a sinner, as to thee , " exclaim'd
The guilty son — but still his birthright claim'd:
The Father bless'd the title of despair,
Flew to the voice, and crown'd the filial prayer.
When Joseph saw in bonds, and at his feet,
The summon'd captives to his judgement-seat,
The sword and balance he no longer bore —
They were HIS Brothers , and he ask'd no more .
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.