The Fatal Crossing

The Fatal Crossing

There is a time, we know Not when: A place we know Not where; Which marks the destiny if man, For glory it despair.

There is a line by us unseen,
That crosses every path;
The hidden boundary between
God's mercy and His wrath.

To pass that limit, is too die;
To die as if by stealth,
It does not quench the beaming eye,
Nor pale the glow of health.

The conscience may be still at ease,
The spirit light and gay;
That which is pleasing, still may please,
And care be trust away.

Oh! where is this mysterious Bourne
By which our path is crossed?
Beyond which God himself hath sworn,
That he who goes is lost?

How long May I go on in sin?
How long will God forbear?
Where does hope end, and where begin
The confines of despair?

An answer from the skies is sent,
"Yes that from Good depart;
While it is called Today, repent,
And harden not your heart."