There’s a poem by Joseph Addison Alexander that I believe drives home the urgency for someone here today. It’s untitled to my knowledge and goes like this:
There is a time, we know not when,
A place, we know not where;
Which marks the destiny of men
To glory or despair.
There is a line, by us unseen,
Which crosses every path,
Which marks the boundary between
God’s mercy and his wrath.
To pass that limit is to die,
To die as if by stealth;
It does not dim the beaming eye,
Nor pale the glow of health.
The conscience may be still at ease,
The spirit light and gay;
And that which pleases still may please,
And care be thrust away.
But on that forehead God hath set
Indelibly a mark;
Unseen by man, for man as yet,
Is blind and in the dark.
He feels perchance that all is well
And every fear is calmed;
He lives, he dies, he walks in hell,
Not only doomed,
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