“How much more shall the Blood of Christ, Who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?”
Within the mind of every man
There rests a courtroom of the soul;
And within this room there is a trial
Over the condition and destiny of one’s soul.
On one side is the prosecutor
Who has records of all sins—
And residing over all these proceedings
Is the Righteous Judge Who’ll determine one’s final, eternal end.
So poor are we as we stand before Him;
No one to plead our case.
But, the Judge appoints for us an Advocate,
Who of our case will embrace.
“I object,” the prosecutor protests so loudly,
“He’s your Son,” he cries in dismay;
“Sit down and keep your mouth quiet,” the Judge says,
“For My Character is not on trial this day.”
The prosecutor is quite thorough
As he presents the Book of our sins;
“I’ve documented every one of them,” he says
“Every action and thought within.”
Ever so quietly the Advocate arises
And slowly takes up the Book,
“Your Honor, my client’s guilty,” says He,
“But before passing Judgment please take a look:
“Upon this Book you’ll find a seal
With words clearly written in Blood-red;
You’ll find the word ‘Pardoned,’ not ‘Paroled,’
Over every thought, deed and word My client ever said.
“And, as You know, Your Honor,
One can never be retried
For the crimes for which he’s been pardoned—
For it’s for those sins I bled and died.”