He turned to those on his left.
“Where were you when I reached out my hand?
I was the orphan who lived in your land.
Was it not Sabbath you sang my hymn?
‘How great is my God’, but then you condemn,
The needy, the foreigner, the widow, unborn,
It was yourself you chose to adorn.
You claim to know me, but knew nothing at all,
Your heart was hardened, deaf to my call.
It is my own, in whom I rejoice,
They heard my call; they know my voice.
And when you see them you see my face,
They are the ones who extended my grace.
For they are the ones who admitted their shame,
They reached out their hands they called to my name.
Was it not I who begged on the street?
Trapped and enslaved, trafficked, and beat.
Was it not you who turned me away?
Speak!”
They found no words to say.
And he turned to those on His right.
“Welcome home my love, my prized possession,
For it was you who made the confession.
‘Thy will, not mine, be done,’
Accepting my grace and the blood of my Son.
It was you who opened your arms,
Shielding the orphan from further harms.
Was it not me who you welcomed in?
Forgiving thy neighbor, forgiving thier sin.
Indeed, it was you who stood the test,
Now you are home, enter my rest.
You did not seek to be saved from the fire,
It was only I that your heart did desire.
For these words your heart was so fervent,
Well done my good and faithful servant.”