SOME YEARS ago a man was sent to prison for housebreaking. This man had a love for reading and wring, and as the Bible was the only book in his cell, he began to read it to pass the time away. The very Bible he had formerly abused, and then totally neglected, he now spent his time poring over. Soon he found God’s voice speaking to his conscience and heart through the sacred pages.
One day the cell door was opened and he was ordered to step into the corridor with the other prisoners. As he did so, a slip of paper which fell from his hand quickly caught the eye of a guard who picked it up and put it into his own pocket. His surprise was great when, on looking at it, he found it to be some poetry at which the one-time surly, brutal convict had tried his hand. The guard was a Christian man and his heart leaped for joy as he read the following lines written by this man who, before his conviction, had apparently been a chimney sweep.
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, ’tis 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 foul
I called damnation to 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.
What the poor chimney sweep found is equally needed by all, whether rich or poor, high or low, young or old; and it is through God’s mercy equally available for whoever will take the water of life freely.
ML-08/09/1970