A beggar meets The Prince

A Beggar meets The Prince

Steve Loggins

1/5/2020

A beggar met The Prince one day while walking down the road,

The beggar’s clothes were soiled and frayed from traveling with a load.

His back was bent with a heavy bag he’d gathered on the way,

His garments were but filthy rags for he had no place to stay.

He saw The Prince through rheumy eyes caked with dust and grime,

He saw his clothes and fantasized, “How I wish his robe was mine!”

  

The Prince put up a hand and stopped the pauper on his way,

The beggar knelt, and then he dropped his load that fateful day.

“What do you have”, The Prince then asked, “in the heavy bag you carry?”

The poor man answered very fast, “Some things I need to bury.”

“They are but things I value high, yet no one else would care,

Some junk I picked up by and by; all common things, not rare.”

“I would see your sack of things, perhaps we’ll make a trade.”

“Oh no, your Majesty, I bring you nothing goodly made.”

“I still would see your wares today, show them, let me decide.”

The beggar bowed his head to say, “As you insist, I’ll open wide…

My bag of things that have no cost, just do not laugh at me,

For all that’s here, so much was lost, I traded my security.”

The bag now opened, held three things; a stone, a book, a rolled up scrap,

Three items held by a lot of strings which the beggar had round them wrapped.

The stone was black and made so hard a chisel could not mark,

A heart shaped form that couldn’t guard the glow beneath the dark.

The book was plain and, O, so worn, its pages often read,

But as the prince looked thereupon, the beggar shook his head.

“My memories of bad and good, of joy and sorrow too,

I did the best with what I could, it must seem small to you.”

The rolled up scrap was then unfurled, like a flag for a parade,

And on it was a painted world the man himself had made.

“I’ll take them all”, The Prince then said, “but not with strings attached.”

The beggar shook his angry head and, in his haste, he snatched

The scrip and book and stony heart from The Noble Prince that day,

“I’ll not be having any part in giving my things away!”

“You misunderstand My offer, son, you have mistaken My intent,

I want your things to be re-done, but only if you relent.”

“It all will be coming back today, just shining, fresh, and new,

You have to trust in what I say, I’ll give all things to you.”

The beggar, trembling, laid down his bag, filled with broken things,

He asked The Prince about his rags, and what value they might bring.

The Prince then gave a winsome smile and took off his own coat

And laid it on the meager pile and on that, placed a note

“I, The Prince, do hereby swear to all who care to read

That this, my robe the beggar wears, is his to meet his need.”

The beggar’s stunned, afraid to speak, He’s scared to take the deal

Afraid his things were far too weak, such a trade could not be real,

New clothes for old, new things for old; no, The Prince could not be true,

To see some monstrous game unfold, some trick the Gentry do

To mock the poor and feeble man, or catch him in some trap,

It’s just a false and mischief plan, he’s waiting for the jaws to snap.

He grabbed his threadbare rags and held, and glowered at The Prince,

But then he spied a tear that trailed, to him it made no sense,

Why should The Prince spill tears today?  Why would He care so much?

If the beggar went his lonesome way bearing his load of such,

Wearing his rags and making his way in a world of dark and gloom

Until he buried it all away in an isolated tomb?

The beggar softened, looked again, and saw the heartfelt pain

Of The Prince who offered up His hand, who had nothing He could gain.

He op’ed his clutch and took out all, of the things He’d hid away

He laid them down on a short stone wall, it was there the three things lay

He cut the strings that bound them there, and offered up his heart,

His world, his book, and then his cares, his ragged clothing for a start.

The Prince then shed his robe of white, and wore a crown of thorns,

And said, “My child, I take the fight, and wear your rags...Now, be reborn!”

In an instant then, the beggar changed, his melancholy ceased,

He found his world now rearranged, its value now increased.

His heart was now a softer one, not hard and black like stone,

Reflecting light from God’s own son, with a loving and forgiving tone.

His memories of days gone by, now gave him time to pause

Of how to fix things where they lie, or reconcile his flaws

That hurt so many in his life, His want to make it right,

His family, friends, so filled with strife, His path now bathed in light.

To his amazement, now he wore; clothed from head to toe,

The Prince’s robe and even more, he had a little glow,

The scrap upon which his world was built, now featured but a cross,

He found he’d lost his heavy guilt, his world was not a loss,

For in its place, his Savior stood, who gave His world to him,

A life not ruined but always good, a world that never dims.

He found his path was altered now, he saw the way so clear,

The kingdom of The Prince he vowed was his celestial sphere.

The Prince had made the trade, you see; and the beggar went away

With all the things He’d guaranteed the pauper on that day.

He had new clothes of righteousness, The Prince’s robe of white,

a fleshly heart of graciousness, a world not dim, but bright.

But more he had, than he ever thought, a new home was his too,

The palace of the king was bought with blood for those made new.

The Prince took his hand and led him then, o’er the straight and narrow road,

He thought of places he had been and what The Prince now showed,

And realized the path was true, the destination sure

His life was precious, this he knew, and his Master’s way was pure.

Forgotten were his rags of old, forgotten was his scrap,

He found his course was lined with gold that plotted out his map

To reach The Father’s palace now, the beggar begs no more,

For The Prince has demonstrated how a beggar finds His door.