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Rags

I was dressed in rags, threadbare and worn But I looked at others with feelings of scorn The rags I was wearing looked fancy to me They were my own self righteous works, you see. I looked at my brother, struggling with sin And righteously prayed, "Thank God, I'm not him!" I shook my head and swaggered away. I told my Lord about him at the end of the day. "Lord look at that sinner," I prayed it with scorn. "I've never been like him, since the day I was born. I go to church Sundays, I'm a righteous man, I say my prayers daily; I tithe when I can." My Lord smiled at me sadly, a tear in his eye. He put a hand on my shoulder and I heard Him sigh. I jumped at His touch, and watched my coat fall; With horror I saw it wasn't fancy at all! My trousers were next; they fell at my feet Moth eaten and dusty--had I thought they were neat? Self-righteous rags were all I had to claim My cheeks turned red, my head hung in shame. Now my Lord dressed me in robes of pure white, Simple and plain, but they fit just right. He took my rags and threw them away I was reminded that my feet are clay. Love and humility are the garments I wear. Now when I see my brother, I offer a prayer. Sel-righteous rags I just can't afford Is the lesson I was taught by my Lord. D H Loewen 2018

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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