for my dearest friend Cath
Harden Not Your Heart
There is a time, I know not when, A place, I know not where, Which marks the destiny of men To heaven or despair. There is a line by us not seen Which crosses every path, The hidden boundary between God’s patience and His wrath. To cross that limit is to die, To die, as if by stealth. It may not pale the beaming eye, Nor quench the glowing health. The conscience may be still at ease, The spirits light and gay; That which is pleasing still may please, And care be thrust away. But on that forehead God hath set Indelibly a mark, By man unseen, for man as yet Is blind and in the dark. And still the doomed man's path below May bloom like Eden bloomed. He did not, does not, will not know, Nor feel that he is doomed. He feels, he sees that all is well, His every fear is calmed. He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell, Not only doomed, but damned. Oh, where is that mysterious bourn, By which each path is crossed, Beyond which God himself hath sworn That he who goes is lost? How long may men go on in sin? How long will God forbear? Where does hope end, and where begin The confines of despair? One answer from those skies is sent, “Ye who from God depart, While it is called today, repent, And harden not your heart.” –Author unknown
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