On Purpose

a poem on the purpose of God

I.

Dead in sin are countless numbers,

Neither seeking God nor life.

Worries of the world encumbers,

Head and heart all full of strife.

II.

Hopeless striving to be righteous,

Filthy rags are all we bring.

Yet the Father here invites us,

Chosen by His sovereignty.

III.

Nothing lovely, Nothing good,

Nothing in us bids Him act.

Not our working, nothing could,

All we bring is what we lack.

IV.

Oh, but God has set His love,Yes, before the world began.

Gracious choosing is the work of,

God’s eternal saving plan.

V.

Lamb of God before the founding,

Purposed before time began.

Taking flesh in love abounding,

Taking death to ransom Man.

VI.

“Not my works!” my mouth confesses,

“All of Him!” I gladly sing.

“Come and drink,”

says He who blesses,

“Freely take and nothing bring.”

© Jacob Crouch 2021

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