It was a bright Sunday morning in 28th century London, but Robert Robinsons mood was anything but sunny. All along the street there were people hurrying to church, but in the midst of the crowd Robinson was a lonely man. The sound of church bells reminded him of years past when his faith in God was strong and the church was an integral part of his life. It had been years since he set foot in a churchyears of wandering, disillusionment, and gradual defection from the God he once loved. That love for Godonce fiery and passionatehad slowly burned out within him, leaving him dark and cold inside.
Robinson heard the clip-clop, clip-clop of a horse-drawn cab approaching behind him. Turning, he lifted his hand to hail the driver. But then he saw that the cab was occupied by a young woman dressed in finery for the Lords Day. He waved the driver on, but the woman in the carriage ordered the carriage to be stopped.
“Sir, Id be happy to share this carriage with you,” she said to Robinson. “Are you going to church?” Robinson was about to decline, then he paused. “Yes,” he said at last. “I am going to church.” He stepped into the carriage and sat down beside the young woman.
As the carriage rolled forward Robert Robinson and the woman exchanged introductions. There was a flash of recognition in her eyes when he stated his name. “Thats an interesting coincidence,” she said, reaching into her purse. She withdrew a small book of inspirational verse, opened it to a ribbon-bookmark, and handed the book to him. “I was just reading a verse by a poet named Robert Robinson. Could it be ?”
He took the book, nodding. “Yes, I wrote these words years ago.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Imagine! Im sharing a carriage with the author of these very lines!”
But Robinson barely heard her. He was absorbed in the words he was reading. They were words that would one day be set to music and become a great hymn of the faith, familiar to generations of Christians:
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
His eyes slipped to the bottom of the page where he read:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love;
Heres my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
He could barely read the last few lines through the tears that brimmed in his eyes. “I wrote these wordsand Ive lived these words. Prone to wander prone to leave the God I love.”
The woman suddenly understood. “You also wrote, Heres my heart, O take and seal it. You can offer your heart again to God, Mr. Robinson. Its not too late.”
And it wasnt too late for Robert Robinson. In that moment he turned his heart back to God and walked with him the rest of his days.