How pure His cleansing blood, that make us white as snow. There is need for my flesh to be restored and to be made whole. This flesh that has been consumed by sinful nature. Charred and tainted, rendered foul and useless. How fickle are the minds of mortal men, that we cannot keep our faith. How cheap is our word, that it can vanish in a moment's instant. Like deranged sheep, we constantly stray from the path.
There is joy being in His arms. There is peace being under His wings. We know it. It is life to live with Him. And death to live otherwise. We know it.
Johnston
