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144t Tribulation



Death, ’tis a melancholy day,
To those who have no God:
When the poor soul is forced away,
To seek her last abode.

In vain to heav’n she lifts her eyes;
But guilt, a heavy chain,
Still drags her downward from the skies,
To darkness, fire and pain.

Awake and mourn, ye heirs of hell!
Let stubborn sinners fear;
You must be driv'n from earth, and dwell
Alone for ever there.


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