Who is the undertaker that digs man a grave? Who is the painted temptress that steals his
virtue? Who is the murderess that destroys his life? Who is the sorceress that first deceives and
then damns his soul? Sin.
“Who, with icy breath, blights the fair blossom of youth? Who breaks the hearts of parents? Who
brings old men with sorrow to the grave? Sin. Who, by a more hideous metamorphosis than
Ovid ever fancied, changes gentle children into vipers, tender mothers into monsters, and their
fathers into worse than Herods, the murderers of their own innocents? Sin. Who casts the pain
of discord on household hearts? Who lights the torch of war and bears it blazing over trembling
lands? Who, by division in the church, rends Christ’s seamless robe? Sin.
“Who is the Delilah that sings the Nazarite asleep and delivers up the strength of God into the
hands of the uncircumcised? Who, winning smiles on her face, honeyed flattery on her tongue,
stands in the door to offer the sacred rites of hospitality, and when suspicion sleeps,
treacherously pierces our temples with a nail? What fair siren is this, who, seated on a rock by
the deadly pool, smiles to deceive, sings to allure, kisses to betray, and flings her arm around
our neck to leap with us into hell? Sin.
“Who turns the soft and gentlest hearts to stone? Who hurls reason from her lofty throne, and
impels sinners, like the Gadarene swine, down the precipice into the lake of fire? Sin.