Poems by Thomas Odiorne . in a series of numbers |
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![]() | Poems by Thomas Odiorne . | ![]() |
IX.
To all ye seraphim and loyal hosts,Who stand adoring round the throne supreme,
Be it well known: That in the secret place
Of love divine, a sacred fount is op'd,
Of living waters, in behalf of man,
In view of which, justice forbears to frown.
But still there is a threat i' the covenant:—
The soul that does not drink assur'dly dies.
Th' archangel Gabriel, be it known to all,
Is my commission'd messenger to earth,
To offer terms of peace, acceptible,
That whosoe'er repents, and turns to God,
Shall taste of these ethereal streams, and live.
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Its rigour unabated—endless wo,
Inexorable—expiation made,
Not for the least offence, (as God is just,)
Nor pardon possible, but on such terms.
Angels! ye all are min'string spirits now—
Man is entitled to benev'lent love.
Go render service to the future heirs
Of bliss immortal. Thus Jehovah spake.
![]() | Poems by Thomas Odiorne . | ![]() |