Turnstile
At death, stood one, at a turnstile,
Whether each, facing judgment, would pay.
There, no accord for entry, was made worthwhile,
Nor was there bestowed a ready day.
For the tree that had fallen south or north,
In that direction, endlessly, remained the same.
Only the Godly, advanced henceforth,
Those who honored and glorified God's name.
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