Poetry

                Dear Soul

Dear Soul, take my hand!
As ambassador to Christ I stand
   Before you, beseeching you in His
   Stead: be reconciled to God! He is
Made sin for you, the One who
Knew no sin, that you
   Can be forgiven of all your
   Transgressions—that tore
And ravaged so many who has
Gone before, now lost eternally in that vas',
   Unimaginable, all-consuming and fiery-pit;
   Confined, Soul, till the day when the list
Is taken out, and—think of it!—all
The lost shall stand before Him, awaiting His call
   To show them that in His Book their names
   Were never written. He blames
Them not, but they shall see, yea
Acknowledge, that His judgment's not nay,
   But amen. So, as ambassador, I implore;
   Before it's too late, go; nay, run to Jesus the Door!