“DRAW up the blind, ‘tis getting awfully dark;
‘Tis strange such little things now give me quite a start.
Say, Jack, I’m only young, it seems so hard to die
Away from home and friends”―he heaved a sigh.
“Supposing, Jack, our thoughts of God, of heaven, and of hell
Are wrong―they bring no peace, that know I all too well.
I’ve boasted long, I’d chance it, that’s when I was strong;
But now I’ve got to chance it, I begin to fear we’re wrong.
Oh, that I were sure―but there’s something here within
That tells me I must pay the penalty of sin.”
“Oh, nonsense, Jim; the Bible might have done for years ago;
We’ve proved how it contradicts itself, you know.”
“Yes, Jack, we thought we did, and then it seemed quite clear,
But things wear a different aspect when death’s so very near.
I feel like stepping, blind, into the blackest, darkest night;
There’s a dreadful horror over me, and not a gleam of light.
I’ve known the way quite well, but would not enter in;
It’s too late now, and I must perish in my sin.”
The skeptic dies, no peace fills his poor heart;
Without God or hope he lives in this life, and the next.