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Slow. With tenderness and delicacy.


Sinner, art thou still secure?

Wilt thou still refuse to pray?

Can thy heart or hand endure,

In the Lord's avenging day.


At his presence nature shakes,

Earth affrighted hastes to flee;

Solid mountains melt like wax,

What will then become of thee?


Who his coming may abide?

You that glory in your shame,

Will you find a place to hide

When the world is wrapped in flame?


Lord, prepare us by thy grace,

Soon we must resign our breath;

And our souls be called to pass

Through the iron gate of death.

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