A memorial volume of sacred poetry by the late Sir John Bowring. To which is prefixed, a memoir of the author, by Lady Bowring |
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Be sure your Sin will find you out.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
Be sure your Sin will find you out.
There's no retreat from sin—no spot
Of refuge can the guilty find:
The sin deserts the sinner not
Until repentance clears the mind.
Of refuge can the guilty find:
The sin deserts the sinner not
Until repentance clears the mind.
112
The scorpion stings which conscience wields
Still follow in the track of crime;
No distance from their terror shields—
Nor the destroying flight of time.
Still follow in the track of crime;
No distance from their terror shields—
Nor the destroying flight of time.
Th'accusing voice at last will speak
In thunder, though 'tis silenced now;
The torrent through its banks will break,
And nought resist its overflow.
In thunder, though 'tis silenced now;
The torrent through its banks will break,
And nought resist its overflow.
Here or hereafter—dare not doubt,
O sinner! dare not disregard!
“Be sure your sin will find you out,”
And bring its terrible reward.
O sinner! dare not disregard!
“Be sure your sin will find you out,”
And bring its terrible reward.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |