Zacchaeus

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Zacchaeus

To whom the heavy burden clings,

It yet may serve him like a staff;

One day the cross will break in wings,

The sinner laugh a holy laugh.

The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a tree,

His humble stature set him high;

The Lord the little man did see

Who sought the great man passing by.

Up to the tree he came, and stopped:

“To-day,” he said, “with thee I bide.”

A spirit-shaken fruit he dropped,

Ripe for the Master, at his side.

Sure never host with gladder look

A welcome guest home with him bore!

Then rose the Satan of rebuke

And loudly spake beside the door:

“This is no place for holy feet;

Sinners should house and eat alone!

This man sits in the stranger’s seat

And grinds the faces of his own!”

Outspoke the man, in Truth’s own might:

“Lord, half my goods I give the poor;

If one I’ve taken more than right

With four I make atonement sure!”

“Salvation here is entered in;

This man indeed is Abraham’s son!”

Said he who came the lost to win⁠—

And saved the lost whom he had won.