It bears no light from purer worlds to this;
Thy future lends not e’en a dream of bliss.
But who shall dare the gate of life to close,
Or say, thus far the stream of mercy flows?
That fount unseal’d, whose boundless waves embrace
Each distant isle, and visit every race,
Pours from the throne of God its current free,
Nor yet denies th’ immortal draught to thee.
Oh! while the doom impends, not yet decreed,
While yet th’ Atoner hath not ceased to plead—