Email Poem

Your IP Address: 104.23.243.100

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	v.22,3,6,17-20 L. M. The prosperity of sinners cursed. Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I, To mourn, and murmur, and repine, To see the wicked placed on high, In pride and robes of honor shine! But O their end, their dreadful end! Thy sanctuary taught me so; On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand, And fiery billows roll below. Now let them boast how tall they rise, I'll never envy them again; There they may stand with haughty eyes, Till they plunge deep in endless pain. Their fancied joys, how fast they flee! Just like a dream when man awakes; Their songs of softest harmony Are but a preface to their plagues. Now I esteem their mirth and wine Too dear to purchase with my blood; Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine, My life, my portion, and my God.
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required

Member Area