Nothing But the Blood of Jesus

“Nothing but the Blood of Jesus,”
Say the words of that precious old hymn,
Yes, “nothing but the Blood of Jesus”
Can wash away all of my sin.
But hymns don’t speak of the Blood anymore,
Nor mention that dear precious Name,
The name of Jesus, my Saviour and Lord,
Who bore all of my sin and my shame.
“What can wash away my sin?”
The answer still is the same:
The pure cleansing flood of my dear Saviour’s blood,
God’s pure, precious Lamb who was slain,
Slain on that old cross on that dark lonely hill
At the place that was called Calvary,
Where the Son of God died on that cross, crucified,
That from sin’s curse I should ever be free.
No, hymns don’t speak of the blood anymore,
Nor of sin, degradation nor shame,
Nor of worms such as I, unworthy, condemned,
Was it not for God’s Lamb who was slain.
The hymns being written are so politically correct,
Full of vain repetitions of phrase,
That one wonders what happened to the blackness of sin
From which mankind must be saved.
Yes, nothing but the Blood of Jesus
Can wash away all of man’s sin,
And there is no other way to come unto God
Than to come, dear friend, by Him.

a. franklin staples
January 12, 1997

© 1997 by A. Franklin Staples