Directly over every Sinner's head.
That Sentence is gone forth, by which wee stand
Condemn'd to suffer death. The dreadfull hand,
Of God's impartiall Iustice, holds a Knife,
Still ready, to cut off our thread of life;
And, 'tis his mercie, that keepes up the Ball
From falling, to the ruine of us all.
Oh! let us minde, how often wee have bin,
Ev'n in the very act of Deadly-sinne,
Whilst this hung over us; and, let us praise,