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, but damned!
O, Where is that mysterious line That may by men be crossed, Beyond which God himself hath sworn, That he who goes is lost?
An answer from the skies repeats, “Ye who from God depart.”
TODAY, O hear His voice, TODAY repent and harden not your heart.
—Joseph Addison Alexander