Adored, Part 2

And then she sees a sovereign king arrive,
With more glory than her mind could e'er contrive.
She cannot contain the excitement in her voice:
"I can see him now! This day, his heart rejoiced!"

He showers this youthful peasant maid with praise.
Do we even see the role this dame portrays?
In her wide eyes, we see the church - today's.
Christ the Lover sees perfection with His eyes amazed.

The law screams, "I must judge you with your death!"
Grace, louder, cries, "Dead sinner, have life's breath!"
Justice roars, "Drink My wrath's eternal cup!"
Forgiveness silences the din: "Your garden has always been locked up!"

He sees the resplendent jewels he gave this daughter
As a reminder of why He did not slaughter
Her under His law's demands, but gave her grace -
Her, being all His chosen race, both Jew and Greek -
Not the self-righteous strong, but the helpless weak -
Who see themselves in His light and are undone,
Who turn from wicked ways to kiss the Son.

He has many bigger yards from more well-known saints to darken,
But the Lover stands here right now to hearken
To the call of His dearly beloved in her garden.
And then He says, "This is My garden!
I will not see what the foxes have trodden,
The years the locusts have eaten or countless sins wanton.
It is - you are -
Complete
and sinless
and wonderful
and fruitful
and altogether beautiful to Me!"

And she will look upon her Lover - every saint! -
And see Him with no flaw or any taint
Though His appearance on this earth would not make anyone desire Him.

Yet here, we love Him with such imperfect passion.
He wishes to enthrall us, but we find our satisfaction
In fleeting little pleasures.
Our feet are washed, and off has gone the robe.
Complacently, we engage this present globe,
Too slack to love the Treasure.

Still, by Lover's grace, Beloved wakes:
"Help my unbelief, although it snakes
Throughout my imperfect love for You and shakes,
At times, my faith that You still love, 'spite my mistakes."
Yet the bolt to her door no longer quakes;
The Lover has gone for now, but never breaks
The bruised reed in the shallows of the lakes.
"Faint with love", she stands out from the fakes.

And she waits for His return - whose?
Radiant, wavy, purest of the pure;
Washed, anchored, sweeter than dripped myrrh;
Rods, pillars, bases, all secure;
Choice, sweet, His words the perfect lure.
"This is my Lover, who takes the highest precedence,
Heaven's one High King; gaze with me on His excellence!"

He stands now in a field, gathering the chosen
Lilies from the surrounding lands, as spoken
By His Father with perfect voice,
In perfect submission to the Father's choice
Of whom to bestow His saving grace,
Not those with no flaws in their face,
Trusting in law-keeping, self-sufficient faith,
But the infants to whom He revealed His grace,
To claim for His sole glory their law-place.