XVII. A FAREWELL.

8,7,8,7,8,7,8,7

Fly, Earth's gaudy, fading trifles;

Empty joys, no longer stay:

Stand aside, vain schemes of profit:

Gay companions, speed away!

I depart, the Bridegroom cometh;

I dare sport with you no more,

But would with the wise now ready

Enter ere He close the door.

Come, ye thoughtless, enter with me,

Flee, while Mercy saith there's room:

Flee, before the storm o'ertake you:

Flee, ere your destruction come:

Swiftly speeds the dread avenger,

Swiftly speeds the judgement hour;

Speed we to the refuge swiftly,

While we have an open door.