“Say unto them, As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?”
Ezekiel 33:11
I came across an interesting poem attributed to Robert Pollok in an old book published in 1927. The verse came from an even older collection of 10 books called, “The Course of Time.” I have yet to read all of the books, having just discovered them, but this section draws a visual with words of the senselessness of a man who goes to Hell. I hope you can follow along with the little context I’ve included. It is a conversation between a saint and a seer as they alternately contemplate and explain God’s plan of redemption.
Exerpt from The Course of Time, “Book II”
Saviour of men ! henceforth be thou my theme ; Redeeming love my study day and night. Mankind were lost, all lost, and all redeemed!
Thou err'st again, but innocently err'st, Not knowing sin's depravity, nor man's Sincere and persevering wickedness. All were redeemed? Not all, or thou hadst heard No human voice in hell. Many refused, Although beseeched, refused to be redeemed, Redeemed from death to life, from woe to bliss!
Canst thou believe my song when thus I sing ? When man had fallen, was ruined, hopeless, lost-- Ye choral harps ! ye angels that excel In strength ; and, loudest, ye redeemed of men ! To God, to Him that sits upon the throne On high, and to the Lamb, sing honour, sing Dominion, glory, blessing sing, and praise! When man had fallen, was ruined, hopeless, lost-- Messiah, Prince of Peace, Eternal King, Died, that the dead might live, the lost be saved. Wonder, O heavens ! and be astonished, earth ! Thou ancient, thou forgotten earth ! ye worlds, admire! Admire and be confounded ! and thou hell, Deepen thy eternal groan ! —men would not be Redeemed-- I speak of many, not of all— Would not be saved for lost, have life for death! Mysterious song ! the New-arrived exclaimed, Mysterious mercy ! most mysterious hate ! To disobey was mad, this madder far, Incurable insanity of will! What now but wrath could guilty men expect ? What more could love, what more could mercy do?
No more, resumed the Bard, no more they could.
Thou hast seen hell. The wicked there lament :
And why? for love and mercy twice despised.
The husbandman, who sluggishly forgot
In spring to plough and sow, could censure none,
Though winter clamoured round his empty barns.
But he who, having thus neglected, did
Refuse, when autumn came, and famine threatened,
To reap the golden field that charity
Bestowed-nay, more obdurate, proud, and blind,
And stupid still, refused, though much beseeched,
And long entreated, even with Mercy's tears,
To eat what to his very lips was held,
Cooked temptingly-he certainly, at least,
Deserved to die of hunger, unbemoaned.
So did the wicked spurn the grace of God ; And so were punished with the second death. The first, no doubt, punition less severe Intended ; death belike of all entire. But this incurred, by God discharged, and life Freely presented and again despised, Despised, though bought with Mercy's proper blood, 'Twas this dug hell, and kindled all its bounds With wrath and inextinguishable fire.
Free was the offer, free to all, of life And of salvation ; but the proud of heart, Because ' twas free, would not accept ; and still To merit wished ; and choosing, thus unshipped, Uncompassed, unprovisioned, and bestormed, To swim a sea of breadth immeasurable, They scorned the goodly bark, whose wings the breath Of God's eternal Spirit filled for heaven, That stopped to take them in—and so were lost.
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