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In chapter five of the second part of Benjamin Morgan Palmer’s 1894 book on prayer, entitled Theology of Prayer as Viewed in the Religion of Nature and in the System of Grace, he writes of the connection between prayer and the intercession of Jesus Christ. It is a powerful examination both of the nature of the Son’s priestly work of intercession and the way our praying is stimulated by that heavenly work. Palmer concludes the chapter with what he calls “exquisite lines” - though the author of the lines was unknown to Palmer (a publication in 1872 noted that they were translated into English from German, and other sources attribute authorship to “E. Birrell”). Fan into flame your own prayers with the confidence of Christ’s ongoing ministry for you:
The Intercessor
Father, I bring this worthless child to thee,
To claim thy pardon once, yet once again.
Receive him at my hands, for he is mine.
He is a worthless child; he owns his guilt.
Look not on him; he cannot bear thy glance.
Look thou on me; his vileness I will hide.
He pleads not for himself, he dares not plead.
His cause is mine, I am his Intercessor.
By each pure drop of blood I lost for him,
By all the sorrows graven on my soul,
By every wound I bear, I claim it due.
Father divine! I cannot have him lost.
He is a worthless soul, but he is mine.
Sin hath destroyed him; sin hath died in me.
Death hath pursued him; I have conquer'd death.
Satan hath bound him; Satan is my slave.
My Father! hear him now—not him, but me.
I would not have him lost for all the world
Thou for my glory hast ordain’d and made,
Because he is a poor and contrite child,
And all, his every hope, on me reclines.
I know my children, and I know him mine
By all the tears he weeps upon my bosom,
By his full heart that beateth against mine;
I know him by his sighings and his prayers,
By his deep, trusting love, which clings to me.
I could not bear to see him cast away,
Weak as he is, the weakest of my flock,
The one that grieves me most, that loves me least.
I measure not my love by his returns,
And though the stripes I send to speed him home
Drive him upon the instant from my breast,
Still he is mine; I drew him from the world;
He has no right, no home, but in my love.
Though earth and hell against his soul conspire,
I shield him, keep him, save him; we are one.
