A Poem by Robert Murray McCheyne

She has chosen the world,

And its paltry crowd:

She has chosen the world,

And an endless shroud!

She has chosen the world,

With its misnamed pleasures;

She has Chosen the world 

Before heaven's own treasures.

She hath launched her boat 

On life's giddy sea, 

And her all is afloat 

For eternity.

But Bethlehem's star 

Is not in her view;

And her aim is far

From the harbour true.

When the storm descends

From an angry sky,

Ah! where from the winds 

Shall the vessel fly?

When stars are concealed,

And rudder gone,

And heaven is sealed 

To the wandering one.

The Whirlpool opes 

For the gallant prize;

And, with all her hopes,

To the deep she hies!

But who may tell 

Of the place of woe,

Where the wicked dwell,

Where the worldlings go!

For the human heart 

Can ne'er conceive 

What joys are the part

Of them who believe

Nor can justly think 

Of the cup of death

Which all must drink

Who despise the faith.

Away, then-oh, fly 

From the joys of earth!

Her smile is a lie-

There's a sting in her mirth.

Come, leave the dreams 

Of this transient night, 

And bask in the beams 

Of an endless light.

This poem was written by Robert Murray McCheyne after hearing that a friend of the family had said, "That she was determined to keep by the world." I hope you take heed to its truths as it pleads with you to walk not the way of the ungodly. 

Sola Deo Gloria