Poetry

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The Lord's Touch

An inconspicuous woman in the midst of the crowd
Pushed her way to the throng to touch the Lord Jesus
‘If only I could touch his garment’s hem,' she said
‘My bleeding will be healed, I’l be complete again.’

He touched the woman back, then crooked, now straight.
Her sickness was removed, along with all her sins.
‘Be of good cheer, daughter,’ the Master did console
Now you may go in peace, thy faith hath made thee whole!?

A plain girl pounds her fists at the gates of heaven.
Peradventure the Lord will open it for her.
If need be she’d wrestle with God like Israel.
She will not stop until she gets the Lord’s blessing.

She’s sick with a sickness that’s beyond physical.
She’s tarnished, putrefied in spirit and soul.
She’s worthless, filthy rag, good-for-nothing sinner.
Worse than the woman, what a pitiful girl!

The Lord heard her pleadings, she’s summoned to enter.
The door was opened wide, blinding light flooded her.
She dropped down to the floor, prostrated filled with fear.
She can’t look at the eyes of the enthroned glorious king!

But she’s in dire hunger for the grace that's from God.
She won’t live without it, even for a second.
Yet nowhere in this world, or even there beyond
Can this grace so precious, and priceless gem be found.

So boldly yet trembling, she crawled toward the throne.
Slowly she drew nigh till she reached the footstool.
’Holy, holy, holy!’ was all she can utter,
Herself insignificant, God is all that matters.

When she lifted her head she was completely dazed
By the sight of the Lord’s gleaming feet and sandals.
Higher still she glimpsed at the shining hem of His robe.
Bravely she touched it, she was completely cured!

The Lord stooped, touched the girl’s head, then clasped her hand to stand.
While the angelic choirs sings at the background.
Now face-to-face, no veil, God at her very front.
What a rapture of joy to see His face so grand!

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