In a Portland prison, there was a convict who was such a desperate character, that when he went out to work with the gang, he wore a pair of chains suspended at the waist and locked at the ankles. He had been a chimney sweep before his conviction, and for years he had been treated as a man to be dreaded.
He was a terror to all the warders, but one; this man was placed over the very gang in which the incorrigible convict had to work. But one day this warder was soundly converted to God, and he was an entirely new creature in Christ Jesus. With him “old things had passed away, and behold, all things had become new.” (2 Cor. 5:1717Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17).) The very next day he approached the desperate convict and very quietly said to him, “If you will let me, I will treat you like a man from today. Be a good fellow.”
The warder’s heart yearned over this convict, and by his words and actions he sought to bring him to the Saviour who had set him free. So instead of the convict hearing the “Silence, there!” or “I’ll report you"; “Seven-days bread and water!” and the like, the convict heard nothing but kind words, and he was treated kindly. This completely subdued him, and so after a few days the chains were off, and the once-dreaded convict was indeed a changed character.
Then one day the cell doors were opened, and the convict stepped out into the corridor. In doing so he dropped a piece of paper which the warder picked up and placed in his pocket, intending after looking at it to put it back in the cell. What was his surprise when he read the poetry the convict had written. Here it is:
A chimney sweep, black on the skin,
But blacker far he was within;
This secret now the sweep doth know,
Though black as hell, he’s white as snow.
Water will wash and cleanse the skin,
But oh, His blood must cleanse within;
That blood which ran on Calvary’s tree,
Though but a sweep, ’twas shed for me.
In days gone by, with venom fowl,
I called damnation on my soul;
If ever one had cause to bless,
Sure, ’tis the sweep, through sovereign grace.
A chimney sweep of low degree,
Yet loved by all the sacred Three.
Electing love, what tongue can tell?
Though loved of God, deserving hell.
The gospel of Christ is still the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believes.
ML-11/27/1977