The Garment of Mercy
A Poem by Russ Hjelm
O soul, arrayed in dust and fleeting breath,
What robe shall cover thee at evening’s hour,
When all the crowns of pride descend to death,
And mortal glory fades like withered flower?
Not silk of kings, nor jewels forged in flame,
Nor wisdom gathered from the schools of men,
Can shield the trembling heart from fear and shame,
Or cleanse the stains that rise and rise again.
Yet from the courts above eternal light
There comes a garment woven not by hand;
A raiment born within the heart of Christ,
Prepared before the hills and seas were spanned.
Its threads are mercy, tenderness, and grace,
Its hem is touched with heaven’s quiet peace;
And they who wear it shine before God’s face,
Though all the storms of earth may never cease.
Put on, O weary heart, compassion deep,
That gentle strength the Savior loved to bear;
For love was never fashioned for itself,
But bends to lift another from despair.
As rivers pour themselves upon the plain,
As dawn descends upon the shadowed field,
So mercy falls upon another’s pain,
And harden’d spirits learn at last to yield.
How cold the world when kindness is withdrawn,
When every wound is measured, weighed, and sold;
When men repay the darkness they have known,
And answer bitterness with tempers cold.
The nations rise in thunder and in hate,
The proud consume the weak beneath their tread;
And countless souls beside the narrow gate
Lie faint with grief, forgotten as the dead.
Yet Christ the Lord walked softly through the dust,
And bore the insults sharpened at His name;
The Holy One, immaculate and just,
Received the sinner’s mockery and blame.
No curse escaped Him when reviled by men,
No wrath consumed the soldiers at His side;
Instead He spoke forgiveness once again,
And mercy flowed forth crimson from His side.
O wondrous King, whose throne was built through scars,
Whose crown was wrought from human hatred’s thorn,
Whose kingdom stretches farther than the stars,
Yet chose the path where grief and shame are borne.
He looked upon the ones who pierced His hands,
And loved them still beneath the darkened sky;
While earth itself in trembling silence stands,
The Lord of Glory breathed, “Forgive,” and died.
Shall we who live beneath such boundless grace
Refuse the weary soul a kindly word?
Shall pride remain where mercy found a place,
Or vengeance reign where pardon has been heard?
What arrogance within the human breast
Would clutch old wounds and feed the ancient flame,
When Christ Himself has granted guilty rest
To those who once despised His holy name?
Forgiveness is no frail and fleeting art,
No shallow stream that dries beneath the sun;
It is the labor of a yielded heart,
A sacred war through Christ already won.
For flesh remembers every bitter wrong,
And keeps a hidden ledger in the night;
But grace sings forth a far diviner song,
And calls the wounded spirit back to light.
There are deep sorrows buried out of sight,
Old griefs concealed beneath the passing years;
There are harsh words that echo through the night,
And secret wounds baptized in silent tears.
The heart grows hard where pain is left to reign,
Like winter fields abandoned unto frost;
And many wander chained beneath the weight
Of loves betrayed and sacred friendships lost.
Yet God, who knows the chambers of the soul,
Still whispers peace where rage has made its throne;
He does not crush the weak to make them whole,
Nor leave His wandering children all alone.
He gathers every fragment of our grief,
He walks beside the trembling and the worn;
And through the long dark night of unbelief,
He leads the soul unto a gentler morn.
To bear with one another—what a task,
What sacred burden laid on mortal hands.
Not every fault shall vanish when we ask,
Nor every soul grow wise by our commands.
The saints themselves still stumble in the way,
Still battle weakness, fear, and inward pride;
And often love must choose from day to day
To walk with patience standing at its side.
How swiftly anger kindles in the breast,
How swiftly sharp and reckless words arise;
The tongue can turn a household from its rest,
And cast a shadow over joyful eyes.
Yet blessed is the soul restrained by grace,
Who answers wrath with quietness and calm;
For heaven leaves upon that gentle face
The shining likeness of the Savior’s balm.
The oak grows strong through many winds and rains,
The vine bears fruit through seasons harsh and long;
And so the heart through daily trial gains
The humble tenderness that fashions song.
For every trial borne in patient love,
Each insult answered not with hate but peace,
Becomes a holy offering above,
Where earthly strife and selfish passions cease.
O Church of Christ, adorned in heaven’s sight,
Why clothe thyself in garments stained with strife?
Why wound thy brother in the name of right,
Or speak proud words that steal another’s life?
The Lord did not redeem His people thus,
To stand divided at His mercy’s feast;
He calls the lowly and the burdened close,
And makes the last and weakest honored guests.
Let every home be filled with gentleness,
Let every table echo heaven’s grace;
Let fathers, mothers, children learn to bless,
And kindness dwell in every common place.
For holiness is not in distant things,
Nor hidden solely in cathedral prayer;
It blooms wherever patient mercy springs,
And Christ is served through love both true and fair.
The watching world grows weary of its hate,
Its endless thirst for judgment without end;
It longs to see beyond the iron gate
A glimpse of mercy strong enough to mend.
And when believers walk in humble grace,
Forgiving even as they’ve been forgiven,
They bear upon their lives the sacred trace
Of that eternal charity of heaven.
Then clothe thy soul, O pilgrim of the King,
In compassion born beside the throne above;
Let every thought and every action sing
The living testimony of His love.
Bear with the weak, forgive the one who falls,
Speak peace where bitterness has long remained;
For mercy is the fairest crown of all,
And none who wear it walk the earth in vain.
The years shall fade, the nations rise and cease,
The monuments of men shall turn to dust;
But every act of tenderness and peace
Shall shine forever in the courts of trust.
And when at last before the throne we stand,
Delivered fully from corruption’s stain,
We shall behold the Lamb with nail-pierced hands,
Whose mercy taught our hardened hearts to reign.
Then sorrow shall dissolve like winter rain,
And every burdened spirit shall be healed;
The saints made perfect shall no longer strain,
Nor hidden wounds remain unrevealed.
And clothed at last in everlasting light,
The ransomed host before the King shall sing:
That love was stronger than the darkest night,
And mercy was the garment of the King.