Whiter Than Snow

Please listen now to missionary Richard Yerby in Japan telling us the background to the poem, Beautiful Snow. In the early part of the United States Civil War, the early 1860s, one dark Saturday morning in the dead of winter, a young woman, 22 years old, died at the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, Ohio. She had once been beautiful and the pride of respectable parents.

Highly educated and accomplished, she might have shown in the best society. But she was stubborn and willful and would not listen to warning. She played with fire and called it fun.

One day she awoke to find herself ruined by a fatal mistake which she could not erase. She was fallen. She spent the rest of her young life in disgrace and shame and died poor and friendless, a broken-hearted outcast.

Among her personal effects was found in manuscript, the poem, Beautiful Snow, which was immediately carried to Enos B. Reed, spelled R-E-E-D, editor of the National Union. In the columns of that newspaper on the morning following the girl's death, the poem appeared in print for the first time. When the newspaper containing the poem came out on Sunday morning, the body of the victim had not yet received burial.

The attention of Thomas Buchanan Reed, spelled R-E-A-D, one of the first American poets, was soon directed to the newly published lines and was so taken with a stirring pathos that he immediately followed the corpse to its final resting place. Such are the facts concerning her whose beautiful snow will be long regarded as one of the brightest gems in American literature. The poem, Beautiful Snow.

The author's name is not disclosed. Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow, filling the sky and earth below. Over the housetops, over the street, over the heads of the people you meet.

Dancing, flirting, skimming along. Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong. Clinging to lips in frolicsome freak, trying to kiss a fair lady's cheek.

Beautiful snow from heaven above, pure as an angel, gentle as love. Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow, how the flakes gather and laugh as they go. Whirling about in maddening fun, cheering the heart and dispelling the gloom.

Chasing, laughing, hurrying by. It lightens the face and sparkles the eye. Rollicking dogs with a bark and a bound snap at the crystals which eddy around.

The town is alive and its heart in a glow to welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How wildly the crowd goes swaying along, hailing each other with humor and song. How gay are the sleighs, like the stars flashing by are bright for a moment, then lost to the eye.

Ringing, swinging, dashing they go over the crest of the beautiful snow. Snow that's so pure when it falls from the sky that it makes one regret that it's fated to lie and be trampled and muddied by thousands of feet till it blends with the horrible filth in the street. Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell.

Fell like the snowflakes from heaven to hell. Failed to be trampled as filth on the street. Fell to be scoffed at, to be spit on and beat.

Pleading, cursing, dreading to die. Selling my soul to whoever would buy. Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread.

Hating the living and fearing the dead. Merciful God, have I fallen so low? And yet I was once like the beautiful snow. Once I was fair as the beautiful snow.

With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow. Once I was loved for my innocent grace. Flattered and sought for the charms of my face.

Father, mother, sisters, all. God and myself I have lost by my fall. The vilest wretch that goes shivering by will make a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh.

For all that is on or above me I know. There is nothing so pure as the beautiful snow. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go.

How strange it should be when the night comes again. If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain. Fainting, freezing, dying alone.

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan. To be heard in the streets of the crazy town. Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down.

To be and to die in my terrible woe. With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. Hopeless and foul as the trampled snow.

Sinner, despair not. Christ stoopeth low. To rescue the soul that is lost in sin.

And to raise it to life and enjoyment again. Groaning, bleeding, dying for thee. The crucified hung on the cursed tree.

His accents of mercy fall soft on thine ear. Is there mercy for me? Will he heed my weak prayer? O God, in the stream that for sinners did flow. Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

The end of the poem, Beautiful Snow. My friend, without Christ as your Savior, the following hymn is a wonderful prayer. As you listen to it being sung now, with all sincerity, and for your own eternal salvation and blessedness, please silently voice these pleas to your Creator God.

Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole. I want thee forever to live in my soul. Break down every idol.

Cast out every foe. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Whiter than snow.

Yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Lord Jesus, let nothing unholy remain.

Apply thy own blood and remove every stain. To get this blessed washing I all things forego. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Whiter than snow. Yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Lord Jesus, look down from thy throne in the skies. And help me to make a complete sacrifice. I give up myself and whatever I know.

Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Whiter than snow. Yes, whiter than snow.

Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Lord Jesus, for this I most humbly entreat. I wait, blessed Lord, by thy crucified feet.

By faith for my cleansing I see thy blood flow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Whiter than snow.

Yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Lord Jesus, thou seest I patiently wait.

Come now and within me a new heart create. To those who have sought thee thou never said no. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Whiter than snow. Yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Whiter than snow. Yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

In his holy Bible, our Creator God says to each and every human soul, Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow. Though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

That is in Isaiah chapter 1, verse 18. All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned everyone to his own way, and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

That is Isaiah chapter 53, verse 6. The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. Found in the New Testament, 1 John chapter 1, verse 7b. For it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.

Old Testament Book of Leviticus chapter 17, verse 11b. My friend listening to me now, there is nothing in life more important to you than to sincerely pray the following prayer to your Creator God. Lord Jesus Christ, please change my heart for my eternal good.

Please create within me a heart repentant toward Thee for all my sins. Please forgive me of all my sins and wash me clean in God's precious blood that Thou didst shed for me on the cross. Please grant me true faith in my Creator God to fully believe in Thee and to fully trust in Thee, Lord Jesus, as my Lord, my God, my Savior, my first and foremost love, my all.

Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for hearing this prayer of mine. Amen. Please invite everyone you possibly can to listen to this reading of Beautiful Snow.

This audio is in the radio sermons on Richard's website. That URL is christisall.us. Separate those three words with two dashes. christ-is-all.us Most of the time, we have Beautiful Snow available printed in track form.

Ask for it from Christ is All, P.O. Box 490, Vernon, Alabama, 35592-0490, USA. Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.

Now, Missionary Richard is back at the microphone to tell you a heartbreaking encounter along my missionary journey. Past mid-afternoon on Saturday, September 6, 2003, I was standing in front of the walk-in entrance to Karuizawa Church in the tourist resort town of Karuizawa, Nagano Prefecture, Japan. I was preaching the saving gospel of Jesus Christ, holding forth the word of life to the stream of humanity flowing past me in both directions, walking and riding bicycles, each one traveling to his or her eternal final destination.

On this crowded day, this street is blocked off from vehicular traffic. Most all the souls passing by me are Japanese tourists who have traveled to this mountain resort town for pleasure. In this Buddhist nation, only about three Japanese out of 1,000 profess to be a born-again Christian believer.

Practically all of these pleasure seekers ignore my preaching, which still enters their ears and goes straight into their heart, powerfully striking their conscience. Thus, many of them adamantly present a disdainful face to me. But as soon as 30-year-old Miss Chika walks within hearing, she determinedly stalks up close, squats on the street right in front of me, and listens.

I've never before met her, and yet know nothing about this stranger. As I observe that all her clothing and her sun umbrella are black, I silently think, demons. As I continue preaching for about two minutes, earnestly praying for Holy Ghost's power and guidance, I then stoop down and talk to her.

She starts talking nonstop, pouring out a flood of most painful grief. I asked her to come sit with me on the bench of the church's front porch. There, her nonstop grievous venting continues for an hour.

Whereupon, I call Karuizawa Bible House about three-fourths of a mile away, asking if I can send Miss Chika there for those Japanese Christians to counsel her. They agree. I give her directions, and she walks there.

I live to hate my dad, she tells them. As she was growing up, her dad severely beat her habitually for no reason. One time, he cracked bones in her wrist as she raised that arm to guard against his painful blows with a wooden rod.

But he didn't take her to a doctor. Those cracked bones never heal properly in the growing girl, so that wrist is still painful at times. Now, at age 30, that boiling anger and those bitter memories have become unbearable for Miss Chika.

So she traveled by train from her house in Japan's old capital, Kyoto, to commit suicide amongst the beautiful mountains around famous Karuizawa. The Japanese Christians in the Bible House urged her to call on Christ to save her from eternal retribution and to heal her soul of the terrible, painful emotions and memories that constantly torment her unbearably. They assured her that the grace, healing, and comfort of God the Savior Jesus Christ is sufficient to make her into a completely new creature now, in whom all old things are passed away now, and all things have become new now.

She left the Bible House, returning to the lodge where she had reserved a room. I think she had arrived in Karuizawa the day before. We all interceded earnestly for her salvation.

I had given Miss Chika my home phone number. The following Tuesday night she called, thanking me for my kindness and firmly declaring that there is no more for me to do for her. I knew that meant that she intends to kill herself.

Chika, don't do it. I called out to her on the phone. I spoke of perfect salvation and helping Christ.

As I started asking her to tell me her cell phone number, I didn't have caller ID on my house phone. She hung up on me. I went outside praying for God to spare her life.

Looking up at the lovely starry sky as I walked a narrow lane near my house, I cried out desperately to Almighty God up above those stars, Abba Father, I know not where Miss Chika is, but Thou dost know. Please guard over her to spare her life and to save her. The next morning I stopped by the Bible House to tell them of her call to me.

And to inquire if they had her cell phone number. They had her number. They called it.

In answer to our prayers, she answered up. She readily told them that after hanging up on me, she went out to commit suicide. It soon changed her mind.

They asked her to come to the Bible House that afternoon. She agreed to do so. So I went there also, and we were prayerfully waiting for her when she showed up at the agreed time.

Upon sitting down amongst us four, she again hung her head low and poured out her grief nonstop. We voiced sympathy with her for more than 20 minutes till I sort of forcefully interrupted her. I asked the Japanese sister in Christ to hand her a Japanese Bible opened at the end of Matthew chapter 11.

Miss Chika, please read aloud to us the Lord Jesus Christ's gracious invitation to you in verse 28 through 30. We four Christians prayed silently as she read in the lovely Japanese language. Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall find rest unto your souls, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Miss Chika, sweet Jesus has rest, comfort, consolation, and healing of your soul that he is offering to you. Will you come to him for that? Thus wise I plead with her, but like a stuck audio player, she goes right back to pouring out her misery.

Thus I get mighty forceful, demandingly delivering the yes or no question in slow, forceful speech. Chika, will you come to Jesus? She finally answered, yes, in a reluctant, small voice. Then please pray this prayer aloud to the Savior from your heart.

Lord Jesus, I come to you. It is necessary to teach her how to call upon the name of Christ to be saved. I start now doing that one sentence at a time.

She repeated that sentence aloud. I had just started voicing the next sentence when the Japanese Christian lady's cell phone rang. Miss Chika was sitting between me and that lady.

That lady answered that worldly device, spoke briefly and hurriedly into it, cut off the phone, hurriedly stood up, saying, I got to go. And she was gone. And that broke up the spirit of our praying.

Chika wouldn't start back. We who were present talked to her briefly and ended our meeting. Chika and I went our separate ways, most likely never to meet again in this life.

I continued to intercede in prayer for her. A few days later, I asked my friends at the Bible house for her cell phone number, and they told me. I waited till about eight days after our meeting and then called her number to encourage and say, I'm praying for you and that Christ can heal all your hurt.

But I got a recorded voice message saying, this number is no longer in service. Likely reason was because Chika had taken her life and was no longer on earth. My fellow Christians, that breaks my heart.

Suicides are increasing in Japan, especially amongst teenagers. As I stand out in public holding forth the word of life to masses around me, I feel like I am literally standing between the living and the dead. You Christian believers, please intercede along with me for their eternal salvation.

Also, my fellow Christian, keep in mind that Christ's invitation to come unto him for rest is for us also. Daniel chapter seven, verse 25 prophesies that in the last days, an arch enemy of God shall speak great words against the most high and shall wear out the saints of the most high. This modern electronic high tech world with fallen man's inventions and devices that peep and beep wears us out, just as prophesied here.

The joy of the Lord is our strength. Call on God to constantly guide your spiritual walk, enabling you to always walk according to the Holy Spirit in order for you to live in the fullness of that joy. Walking according to the Holy Spirit will entail following Christ.

And when Jesus of Nazareth started his earthly ministry, physically walking by the Sea of Galilee, he called his first two disciples, Peter and Andrew, with this invitation, follow me and I will make you fishers of men. Matthew chapter four, verse 19. What a wonderful invitation.

Professing Christian, do you profess to be following Jesus Christ the Savior? If so, are you fishing for men? If you are not doing so, you are not wholly following Christ. Lord, lay some soul upon my heart and love that soul through me. And may I ever do my part to win that soul to thee.