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595.

[What fatal madness to delay]

Pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, &c. —xxiv. 20.

What fatal madness to delay
Our flight from sin and wrath Divine,
To linger till the winter's day
And age's languishing decline!

371

How shall we then the work begin,
Make ourselves ready to depart,
Or disengage from earth and sin
A barren, cold, inactive heart?
Saviour, Thy weak disciple hear,
Presenting my enjoin'd request:
I feel the chilling winter near,
And seek for shelter in Thy breast:
My soul with active faith supply,
Ere yet the helpless season come,
And let me to Thy bosom fly,
My Sun, my everlasting Home.