No neutral shore, no middle ground endures;
No fence where trembling souls may safely hide.
Heaven’s keen sword has drawn its searing line—
With Christ, or swallowed in the outer tide.

He spoke it plain, a blade that cleaves the bone:
“Who stands not for Me stands against My name.”
No half-surrendered heart can hedge its own
Small claim; eternity permits no middle flame.

Born once of flesh, we wake already stained,
Heirs to the wrath the ancient serpent spun—
A venom coil that shadows every vein.
Yet grace invades when sin is fully named;
Repentance turns the key, and mercy’s won.

His blood, poured molten on the cursed tree,
Scours the guilty who in ashes bow.
The Spirit breathes—scales fall from eyes that see
A second birth that quickens dust, and now.

Choose now, O soul—tomorrow is not sworn;
This fragile thread of breath may be your last.
The narrow path to life, the broad to scorn—
Your endless harbor hangs upon one cry: “Lord, save me.”

He waits, arms open wide, not willing one
Should perish where the undying fire lies.
Mercy still calls today. His will is done
When sinners turn. For Him… or lost forever. Rise. Decide.