Salvation


Priceless sinful souls desperately need salvation and deliverance from sin, which only Christ can give.  Without His holy precious blood, shed for the forgiveness of sins, there can be no acceptance in Heaven’s holy glories.

"In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation [atoning sacrifice] for our sins." --  1 John 4:10

A Poem

There's a saying often heard -- tis this; "There's many ways to Heaven, and God approves them all." That is not true my precious friends; that's just not true at all.

For those who talk in such a way I take my pen in hand, and hope this picture that I paint will help them understand.

I seem to see an angel stand beside a golden gate. Beyond the gate is Paradise, where heavenly glories wait. Stretched through the Heavens wait a throng who fain would enter there; the angel sentry they must pass -- He questions them with care:

"Do you know the pass word?" he inquires, of a man of stately mien.
"Presbyterian," he proclaims, "My people all have been!" The angel bends on the stately soul, a searching look - yet kind, then turns the leaves of his golden book; but the word he cannot find. "I'm sorry," he says, but it is not here, friend, kindly step aside, As soon as you think of the proper words the gate will open wide."

A friendly look the next soul has He eagerly draws near. "With Methodists I meet," he says, "I'm sure you know us here." The angel loveth the friendly soul by his face we can plainly see, yet he stops for a look at his golden book, "The name is not here," said he. "Stand here by the Presbyterian," He said with a pitying smile. "You'll surely remember the proper words when you have thought awhile."

The next soul carries a book of prayer, and calmly doth advance. "Episcopalian," the angel bends on his book a searching glance. "Tis sorry work, oh soul," he says "But only one thing to do. I've looked but I cannot find the name. I must keep you waiting, too."

A Catholic next in line doth come, "Tis the one true Church," he saith. On page after page the angel looks, but no mention the record hath. "Neither have you the answer given my Master doth demand. You, too dear soul must step aside, and with the others stand."

And now a soul approaches him in the Baptist faith well versed, who tells the angel in detail of how he was immersed. The angel hears the story through with interest to the end. But this, his simple verdict was, "This will not save, my friend."

A follower of Luther next, comes up before the gate, and in the great reformer's name doth his credentials state. "Luther I know," the angel says, "Heaven holds him very dear. But following him is not the way to gain an entrance here."

And now, a very little child stands where the rest have stood. Whose voice rang out, in accents clear, "I trust in Jesus,' blood!"

Lo, at these words the golden gate suddenly opens wide, and a lovely One with nail pierced hands, welcomes the child inside.

If you were summoned today, my friend, to stand at the gate of God, would your answer be that of the little child, "I trust in Jesus' blood?"

"In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace."  --  Ephesians 1:7

[Above] poem’s author – anonymous