  By the late Rev. Gordon Calthrop, M.A. The cords were knotted round me fast, I writhed and plucked them as I lay; But Sin too well her net had cast— I could not tear myself away. Then hissed a voice, "Give up the strife; Too late thou seek'st to change thy life." Another spake—"Make God thy Friend, And then 't is not too late to mend." But I had scorned the proffered love, And bidden Heav'n's angels from me flee; How could I think that Heaven would move To stretch a helping hand to me? So hissed the voice, "Give up thy hope: Some paths to hell must downward slope." The other said, "God is thy Friend; Why should it be too late to mend?" The time was bitter. Ah! how oft I almost dashed aside the cup! But Hope her banner waved aloft, And God's great Son still held me up. And if the voice hissed, "Thou art long In conqu'ring foes so old and strong," The other cried, "With God thy Friend It cannot be too late to mend." And when the bitter day was done, And forth the demons howling fled, I went to strengthen many a one Whom, like me, Sin had captive led: I told them, though a voice of fear Might speak of ruin in their ear, Another said, "God is thy Friend, It cannot be too late to mend." |
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