My Soul's Haunting Mystery Poem by Jack Smith

Thy love, mine soul's haunting mystery to keep
that Thee, the Life, shoudst bleed on the tree
Here I stand the prodigal guilty, beholding
the serene look on Thy scarred visage

The mockery I hear, from the thieving crowd afar
as sin was poured out on Thine sinless self; there I stood
and shed my river, and suddenly heard mine jeering
voice ring out, Heaven pitied as I parley with the crowd

The scars that marred Thine heart and side,
came from mine wretched hands; my sin's sting
then, Thine dying look gave me sight anew; angels rejoiced
when this broken vessel was redeemed to be whole again

Behold, I proclaim the mystery unheard, of how
time stood still in awe as eternity graced it's presence
and the Lord of Heaven shouldst become the publican's friend
and when the Pure and Holy, was beheld as vile and wicked

What comeliness did Thee see in my decayed being?
How did this vile creature draw Thine merciful gaze?
Ah! , the wondrous words Thou hast whispered,
when Thine Holy countenance beheld and declared me forgiven

What shalt I sing about Thine love? it has purged
mine heart pure, though scarlet red mine sins be;
behold Thine searching look grants me life abundant,
Thine loving grace redeems me from mine former ways

That I may know Thee, the tune on mine unclean lips stay;
Thine word's riches art this pauper's treasure to gain
Thine beauty wilt always keep mine roaming heart fettered
to Thee; and mine weakness is Thine strength to be

Blessed art Thou, mine great King; Thy servant grateful ever;
found wanting, pray I would not be; hoping that faith
shalt bless mine eyes to see Thy day soon; even so
from mine depths I cry out, come, Lord Jesus, come