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Tho' God give them warning,
And rush upon woe.
The rich and the poor,
To swallow bis foes!
The Lord to his face!
Of everlasting woe?
Into the burning lake!
That you his will oppose ?
With which he breaks his foes?
Like wax before the flame?
Pale-fac'd death will quickly come
To drag you to his bar;
Wilt fill you with despair:
And what can you reply?
Your forehead lin'd with brass,
He will not let you pass :
And hide us from his face.
You may his mercy know;
He still forbears the blow :
'Twas for sinners Jesus dy'd,
" There still is room *."
Who never knew the Lord ?
True peace of mind afford ? They shall obtain this jewel
In what their hearts desire, When they by adding fuel
Can quench the flame of fire. 2 Till you can bid the ocean,
When furious tempefts roart, Forget its wonted motion,
and swell no more: In vain your expectation
To find content in fin; Or freedom from vexation,
While pailions reign within. 3 Come turn your thoughts to Jesus,
If you would good poffefs ; Iis he alone that frees us
From guilt and from dittress: When heby taith is pretent,
The finners troubles cease; His ways are truly pleasant I,
And all his paths are peace. 4 Our time in tin we wasted,
And fed upon the wind, Until his love we tafted,
No comiori could we find : But now we stand to witness
His pow'r and grace to you; May you perceive its fitnefs,
And call upon him too ! * Luke, xiv. 22. + Ifaiah, lvii. 20. 21. $ Prov. ii. 17.
5. Our pleasure and our duty,
Are join'd to part no more ::
No less than duty's call,
And serve him with our all.
IV. Prepare to meet GOD.
Wilt thou still refuse to pray?
Thou must either break or bow.
Earth affrighted haftes to flee,
When the world is wrapt in flame?
Trembling, guilty, felf-condemn'd,
And their dreadful sentence hear!
Soon we must relign our breath;
Let us now our day improve,
Scorn the world's pretended joys.
Let thy love our fpirits cheer,
He now is pafling by ;
. And heard thy mournful cry
And wipe away thy tears.
And tell him all thy cafe ?
Nor frown thee front his face :
Has shed his precious blood ? 3 Think, how on the cross he hung,
Pierc'd with a thousand wounds! Hark, from each as with a tongue
The voice of pardon founds! See, from all his bursting veins, Blood, of wondrous virtue, flow! Shed to wash away thy ftains,
And raniom thee from woe.