The Rescue

It was a small thing,

Barely visible to the eye;

Easily trampled and kicked about,

When it fell into the road

Among the throngs

Hurrying on their way


More important.


Rain falling;

A torrent rushing,

Sweeping fiercely,

Forward flinging,

Halting briefly

On stones,

In gullies, swirling—

Lost in current.


Falling deeply

Endless cavern

Contents vanish

Hurtling downward


Broken, battered,

Darkness gaping and



The Father’s Son,

Lovely, pure;

Plucks it

Poor and hapless.

Rescuing, receiving,

Mercifully relieving


To bring it Home.


Gladness growing

At its finding

Clutching tenderly,

Close to a Heart


Now contenting

And relenting

To loving hands.

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