Zion’s Bank

I have a never-failing bank,
A more than golden store;
No earthly bank is half so rich;
How, then, can I be poor?

’Tis when my stock is spent and gone
And I without a groat*,
I’m glad to hasten to my bank
And beg a little note.

[*An English coin worth four pence.]

Sometimes my Banker, smiling, says,
“Why don’t you oft’ner come?
And when you draw a little note,
Why not a larger sum?

“Why live so niggardly and poor?
Your bank contains a plenty.
Why come and take a one-pound note,
When you might have a twenty?

“Yea, twenty thousand ten times told
Is but a trifling sum
To what your Father has laid up
Secure in Christ, His Son.”

Since, then, my Banker is so rich,
I have no cause to borrow;
I’ll live upon my cash today,
And draw again tomorrow.

I’ve been a thousand times before,
And never was rejected;
Sometimes my Banker gives me more
Than asked for or expected.

Sometimes I’ve felt a little proud
I’ve managed things so clever;
But, ah! before the day is gone
I’ve felt as poor as ever.

Should all the banks in Britain break,
And that of England smash,
Bring in your notes to Zion’s bank;
You’ll surely have your cash.

And if you have but one small note,
Fear not to bring it in;
Come boldly to the bank of Grace;
The Banker is within.

All forged notes will be refused;
Man-merits are rejected;
There not a single note will pass
That God has not accepted.

This bank is full of precious notes,
All signed and sealed and free,
Though many a doubting soul may say,
“There is not one for me.”

The leper had a little note—
“Lord, if You will You can”;
The Banker cashed this little note,
And healed the sickly man.

We read of one young man, indeed,
Whose riches did abound;
But in this Banker’s book of grace
This man was never found.

But see the wretched, dying thief
Hang by the Banker’s side;
He cried, “Dear Lord, remember me”;
He got his cash and died.