"Woe to Them when I depart from Them."
"THERE is a time, we know not when,
A point, we know not where,
Which marks the destiny of men,
To glory or despair. There is a line, by us unseen,
That crosses every path,
The hidden boundary between
God's patience and his wrath. To pass that limit is to 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 spirits light and gay;
That which is pleasing still may please,
And care be thrust away. But on that forehead God has set
Indelibly a mark,
Unseen by man for man as yet
Is blind and in the dark. Oh! where is that mysterious bourne
By which our path is crossed,
Beyond which God himself hath sworn,
That he who goes is lost? How far may we 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—
'Ye who from God depart,
While it is called to-day, repent,
And harden not your heart.'"