Poems (Kimball)/"Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out"

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

"HIM THAT COMETH TO ME I WILL IN NO WISE CAST OUT."

HERE, weary heart, at last thy wanderings cease;
    Thy long, sad quest;
Nowhere beside is hope; nowhere is peace;
    Nowhere is rest.

O slow to come to Him who called and called
    With proffers sweet!
While pride withheld thee and thy sin appalled
    He did entreat.

What is thy shame, however great thy shame,
    When thou dost think
That knowing all He loved thee all the same;
    How couldst thou shrink!

How couldst thou fear! as if He could reject
    Who came to save!
To give thee spite of guilt and long neglect
    What thou didst crave—

The sense of pardon filling all the soul
    Washed clean at last;
The grace that follows with its sweet control
    The shame o'erpast!

To win thee sorrowing to His glad embrace
    How hath He striven!
Oh, hear His Voice—couldst thou but see Face!—
    Thou art forgiven!