A POEM BY A.G. CAMPBELL
I deem they greatly err, who hold
That He Who made the human soul,
Will not its destinies control
For final good – but, wrathful, fold
It in the shrouds of hopeless woe,
Of deathless gloom, of quenchless fire,
The creatures of His vengeful ire,
Whence it can never ransom know.
So, in the world to come, His love
Shall freely unto all abound;
Even prisoners in the depths profound
Shall see His kind face beam above
Their dreary cells, and hear His voice,
Unheeded once, in mercy call, --
"Turn, turn to Me and live!" and all
Shall hear the summons and rejoice.
Lost men, lost angels, shall return, --
Satan himself be purified;
Death shall be conquered in his pride,
And hell's fierce fires shall cease to burn.
Then shall our God be All in all –
His love bear universal sway;
His love preserves all souls for aye,
Nor shall the weakest fear a fall.