FRIENDS, I commend to you the narrow way:
Not because I, please God, will walk therein,
But rather for the Love Feast of that day,
The exceeding prize which whoso will may win.
Earth is half spent and rotting at the core,
Here hollow death's-heads mock us with a grin,
Here heartiest laughter leaves us tired and sore.
Men heap up pleasures and enlarge desire,
Outlive desire, and famished evermore
Consume themselves within the undying fire.
Yet not for this God made us; not for this
Christ sought us far and near to draw us nigher,
Sought us and found and paid our penalties.
If one could answer "nay" to God's command,
Who shall say "nay" when Christ pleads all He is
For us, and holds us with a wounded Hand?