NOTHING TO PAY

“It is finished”—John 19: 30

Nothing to pay? No, not a whit!

Nothing to do? No, not a bit!

All that was needed to do or to pay

Jesus has done in His own blessed way.

Nothing to do? No, not a stroke—

Gone is the captor, gone is the yoke;

Jesus at Calvary sever’d the chain

None can imprison His freedom again.

Nothing to fear? No, not a jot;

Nothing unclean? No, not a spot;

Christ is my peace, and I’ve nothing at stake,

Satan can harass, but he cannot take.

Nothing to settle? All has been paid;

Nothing of anger? Peace has been made;

Jesus alone is the sinner’s resource,

Peace He has made by the blood of His cross.

What about judgment? Now I can say

Jesus has met it, borne it away;

He drank it all when He hung on the tree,

Leaving a cup full of blessing for me.

What about terror? It has no place

Now in a heart that is filled with His grace;

My peace is divine, it ne’er can alloy;

Such is the heaven I soon shall enjoy.

Nothing of guilt? Oh no, not a stain;

How could His blood allow aught to remain?

My conscience is purged, and my spirit is free;

Precious that blood is to God—and to me!

What of the law? Ah, there I rejoice,

Christ answered its claims and silenced its voice;

The curse He has borne, the work is all done;

Law cannot condemn now a justified one.

What about death? It has now no sting,

And to the christian no terror can bring.

Death has been conquered, the grave has been spoil’d, Every hope of the enemy foiled.

What about feelings? Trust not to them!

What of my standing? Who shall condemn?

God is on my side, there’s nothing more clear—

From self, sin, and Satan there’s nothing to fear!

What of my body? That I now bring

Yielded a “holy, acceptable” thing;

It is a temple wherein He abides;

For the redeeméd all good He provides.

Nothing to pay? No, thanks be to God

All now is settled, the price was the blood!—

The blood of the Victim, ransom divine

Now by the Spirit God’s own peace is mine.

What do I wait for? Jesus my Lord,

To take down the tent and to roll up the cord,

To take me Himself to those mansions above,

Proving for ever His infinite love.

Found among the papers of Miss Lydia M. Reynolds, London, 1875–1916