No Longer The Wild Rover Poem by James Stovall

For years I did wander, a soul led astray,
Through taverns and pleasures, I wasted each day.
With laughter and liquor I silenced the cry
Of a conscience long buried, too stubborn to die.

But the years, they grew heavy, the joy turned to dust,
My body grew brittle, my heart filled with rust.
Now weary and broken, I knock on the door—
I mutter 'I shall play the wild rover no more.'

I stepped in a chapel I once used to know,
Where the hymns were familiar, and candles burned low.
To the teacher there I said, 'All my strength has been bled,
My sins are a mountain, my spirit is dead! '

'Forgive me, ' I pleaded, but he shook his head,
'Such a weight is beyond me, ' with sorrow he said.
'No blessing I give can your guilt wash away,
No mortal can cleanse what your choices betray.'

I reached into my coat for a handful of gold,
And offered it forth with a gesture so bold.
But he smiled, and returned it with soft-spoken grace:
'You seek not a payment, but mercy through faith.'

'For the labors of men are but ashes and frost,
They purchase no pardon, their merit is lost.
No silver can ransom, no gold can restore—
The stains of the soul need a cleansing far more.'

'To be truly forgiven, a blood must be spilled—
Not your own, nor another's by guilt overfilled.
It must be unstained, both divine and yet man—
A Lamb without blemish, fulfilling God's plan.'

'There once was such mercy, in ages now past,
When the Word walked among us and bore pain so vast.
He lived without sin, and He died for the damned,
His wounds were the price, and His death was the Lamb.'

'Repentance is needed, not payment or deed—
A heart that is broken, a soul that can bleed.
Not penance or coin, but surrender sincere—
And the grace of the Son shall draw Heaven near! '

So I rise from the pew with a fire newly born,
Not prideful nor fearless, but no longer torn.
To my father I'll journey, confess what I've done—
And fall to his feet as a prodigal son.

If he greets me with mercy—as promised afore—
I shall dwell in his house and stray nevermore.
Let the wine of the wild be a cup I abhor—
For I swear I shall play the wild rover no more.