Faith becomes the gloss,
Which covers all our taints.
From convoluted crooks,
The Lord revived His saints.
From grumblers to conquerors,
From harlot to legitimate,
From trembling to leveling,
From cowardice to confidence,
From strong to weak, with something sweet,
From hated son to valiant one,
From tending flocks to slinging rocks,
From offering to crowning kings.
Though each had many faults,
They chose still to obey.
Their sins washed by the cross,
They’re faithful still today.
Jehovah, like an artist, first began,
By roughly sketching His salvation’s plan.
The law in symbol, shadow, and out-line,
Would be memorial and as a sign.
For it could never fully cleanse our sin,
But must be done again and yet again.
And so the Father painted in the lines,
With flesh and blood the portrait He designed.
For God who spoke the Law now spoke once more,
His final Word, His Son who would restore:
This vibrant shape foreshadowed in the sketch,
Who was, and is, and who is coming yet.
God did not want the guts of slaughtered sheep,
But His desire is to make us clean.
He takes no pleasure in the blood of beasts,
But in His holy Bride is He well-pleased.
His will was never endless sacrifice,
But sons and daughters of the blood of Christ.
The portrait of salvation which God made –
Before the footings of the earth were laid –
He paints with blood and sinews of a man:
The incarnation was His perfect plan.
The Law was letters scribbled into stone,
In Christ God wrote again in flesh and bone,
To fill the nature which His law had lacked,
From contract to a personal contact.
The sketch has vanished in the final art,
The Law became a beating, human heart.
A putrid, rotting corpse,
Unclean in all my flesh,
With filth in all I do,
A sewer running death,
A dump-heap is my soul,
As humans all posses.
Emitted from my heart,
This sin drives us apart.
For you are wholly pure,
And holiness defined,
Immaculate in all,
Impossible to know,
Your sanctity sublime.
Your glory none have seen,
And none can come unclean.
Then dare I touch Your robe?
And make You too unclean?
Would my contagion mar,
Your flawless sanctity?
Oh! rapture at Your grace!
Your cleanness covered me!
And You, looking at me,
See Your own purity.