The poetical works of James Montgomery | ||
ONE WARNING MORE.
WRITTEN FOR DISTRIBUTION ON A RACE-COURSE, 1824.
The fly around the candle wheels,
Enjoys the sport, and gaily sings,
Till, nearer, nearer borne, he feels
The flame like lightning singe his wings;
Then weltering in the gulf below he lies,
And limb by limb, scorch'd miserably, dies.
Enjoys the sport, and gaily sings,
Till, nearer, nearer borne, he feels
The flame like lightning singe his wings;
Then weltering in the gulf below he lies,
And limb by limb, scorch'd miserably, dies.
From bough to bough, the wild bird hops,
Where late he caroll'd blithe and free,
But downward, downward, now he drops,
Faint, fluttering, helpless from the tree,
Where, stretch'd below, with eye of deadly ray,
The eager rattle-snake expects his prey.
Where late he caroll'd blithe and free,
But downward, downward, now he drops,
Faint, fluttering, helpless from the tree,
Where, stretch'd below, with eye of deadly ray,
The eager rattle-snake expects his prey.
Thou, child of pleasure, art the fly,
Drawn by the taper's dazzling glare;
Thou art the bird that meets an eye,
Alluring to the serpent's snare;
Oh! stay:—is reason lost?—is conscience dumb?
Be wise, be warn'd, escape the wrath to come.
Drawn by the taper's dazzling glare;
Thou art the bird that meets an eye,
Alluring to the serpent's snare;
Oh! stay:—is reason lost?—is conscience dumb?
Be wise, be warn'd, escape the wrath to come.
Not swifter o'er the level course
The racer glances to the goal,
Than thou with blind and headlong force
Art running on—to lose thy soul;
Then, though the world were won, how dear the cost!
Can the whole world avail a spirit lost?
The racer glances to the goal,
Than thou with blind and headlong force
Art running on—to lose thy soul;
Then, though the world were won, how dear the cost!
Can the whole world avail a spirit lost?
344
Death on his pale horse, following fast,
Gains on thy speed,—with hell behind;
Fool! all thy yesterdays are past,
To-morrow thou wilt never find;
To-day is hastening to eternity;
“This night thy soul shall be required of thee.”
Gains on thy speed,—with hell behind;
Fool! all thy yesterdays are past,
To-morrow thou wilt never find;
To-day is hastening to eternity;
“This night thy soul shall be required of thee.”
The poetical works of James Montgomery | ||