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Why Will Ye Die? (Poem)

Why will ye die? I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, saith the Lord God; wherefore turn yourselves and live ye.
—Ezekiel (18:32)

"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"
Tender, beseeching, and plaintive the cry:
Men pause, and list to the beautiful song,
Smile, shrug their shoulders, then hurry along;
Objects of pity the singers they deem;
Truth is a fable, and Love is a dream,
Heaven a delusion, and God they deny:
"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"

"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"
Sorrow descendeth her power to try;
Pain and Bereavement, Oppression and Woe,
Mingle at times with the dwellers below;
Oh! how we loathe and would thrust them from sight,
Missing the truth that they're angels of light
Pointing us upwards whilst sadly they cry:
"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"

Say, saith the Lord, in whose hand is thy breath,
Say, have I pleasure in evil and death?
Is it a joy that the souls I have made
Into the path of destruction have strayed?
Is it a joy that My mercy they slight,
Loving the darkness and hating the light?
Nay, for in blessing My glory doth lie:
"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"

"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"
Faster and faster time hurryeth by;
Backwards or forwards according to will
Move the vast multitudes, none standeth still.
Where does it lead to, the path thou dost take?
Know that each soul its own future doth make;
Oh! then whilst the light of the world is yet nigh,
"Turn ye, oh! turn ye, for why will ye die?"

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Florence M. Solomon

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