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The Sad Tale of a Young Church-Rejector

A young man ’round the age of sweet sixteen

Is the strangest beast you ever have seen.

For although much diminished by age’s lack,

He has far more brains than a miser’s sack.

He knows so much more than his pastor and others—

Whether mum, dad, grand-folks, sister or brothers.

‘The Church is a place for old dudes,’ (he reasons).

‘Best trade God in for the sporting seasons.

I’ll have my fill of shallow tom-fooling,

Get some quick bucks and forget about the schooling.’

Before the lad knew it he was seventy-three,

Dark in the eye and fragile at the knee.

‘What comfort are memories as I reach the grave?

Neither body or soul can all of them save!

A life without Him who made me from dust—

Though it be filled with laziness and laughter and lust—

Is as useless and vile as a fiddle in the flame.’

Then the old man died without Christ—fearful shame.

But there is some hope ‘lest we all should despair.

Where that man is, take heed that you never end there.

Neglect not the words of your parents and pastor.

Only they can save you from similar disaster.