THE UNCONVERTED.
“MARCH! march! march!
Earth groans as they tread,
Each carries a skull, going down to the dead;
Every stride, every stamp, every footfall is bolder,
'Tis a skeleton's tramp, with a skull on its
shoulder;
And, oh! how it treads, with high tossing head,
That clay-covered bone going down to the dead.”
E. COX.
THE CONVERTED.
“March! march! march!
How lightly they tread,
Looking up to that One who rose from the dead;
Every stride, every step, every footfall is bolder,
'Tis a sinner draws nigh, with a load off his
shoulder;
And, oh! how he treads, looking up to his Head,
Who triumphantly rose from the midst of the dead."
J. WILLANS.
A QUERY.
Reader, just ask yourself this question,—Which corps am I really in? If you answer honestly, you will know whether you are marching to hell or to heaven, as you read this. W. T. P, W.