Poetry

                            Perdition                

     Do you not hear His call, Precious Sinner?

How long has He been calling you now, years?

     And still, you have yet to give Him answer.

But I wonder if you know the tears

     The Savior shed for you? His heart’s sorrow?

Pain He endured? Divine wrath He suffered?

     You mustn’t or you’d not wait the morrow,

You'd answer Him today. —Still you’re unmoved.

     You make nothing of the blood of God’s Lamb

That shed for you. I hope this isn’t so.

     You mustn’t understand He was dumb

That you might escape Eternal Woe,

     The mist of the blackness of that darkness.

Apart from His death and resurrection,

     Hell is our home, barred from Eternal Bliss.

Ignore His call. Pursue insurrection

     Against God’s throne. Wait the blackness of Hell.

If the voice of God’s Lamb won't change your heart,

     Maybe the prospect of hell as your cell

Can make you see your rebellion—its plight.

     Your eyes opened, pride laid aside, you’ll see,

     No Christ means Hell—no God eternally.