310 THE HARP OF PITCAIEN. 
Sweet, sweet it was to hear tbee then, 
In grateful strains to heaven upborne ; 
And shall they not ascend again 
prodigal, return, return ! 
5. 
Upon presumption's tottering mast, 
Held by a thread in reckless sleep, 
Thou fear'st not, though th' approaching blast, 
May whirl thee headlong to the deep. 
Awake, awake, nor longer dare 
The vengeance thou affect'st to scorn, 
Lest thy enraged Creator swear, 
' Thou never, never shalt return? 
6. 
Canst thou 'midst endless burnings dwell ? 
Or with eternal fire abide ? 
That thou wouldst madly doom to hell 
Thy soul for which Immanuel died. 
Arise, arise, repent, believe, 
The Spirit's call no longer spurn, 
Thy Saviour will the welcome give, 
And angels joy at thy return. 
This Hymn was composed at the request 
of several of our little community, who 
wished to have one of their own, which they 
might sing to the pathetic air of 'Bonny 
Boon.' G. H. N. 
