Sunday, March 18, 2007


Not far from New York is a cemetery lone.
Close guarding its grave stands a simple headstone,
And all the inscription is one word alone - “FORGIVEN.”

No sculpture’s fine art hath embellished its form,
But constantly there, through the calm and the storm,
It beareth this word from a poor fallen worm - “FORGIVEN.”

It shows not the place of the silent one’s birth,
Reveals not his frailties not lies of his worth,
But tells out its tale from those few feet of earth - “FORGIVEN.”

The death is unmentioned; the name is untold;
Beneath lies the body, corrupted and cold;
Above rest his spirit, at home in the fold - “FORGIVEN.”

And when, from heavens, the LORD shall descend,
This stranger shall rise and to God ascend,
Well known and befriended, to sing without end - “FORGIVEN.”

We Christians are not perfect – just “FORGIVEN.”

Author Uncertain

I tried doing an online search for this poem and could not find it or its author listed. I am not even sure if the last line is part of the original poem - but it was sent to me today by my pastor.

No comments:

Post a Comment