The Hidden Line

There is a time, we know not when,
   A point we know not where,
That 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,
   Or 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.

And yet the doomed man's path below
   May bloom as Eden bloomed;
He did not, does not, will not know,
   Or feel that he is doomed.

He knows, he feels that all is well,
   And every fear is calmed;
He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell,
   Not only doomed, but damned.

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 that from God depart,
While it's called to-day, repent,
   And harden not your heart."

         ~ Dr. J. Addison Alexander