Some of the Old Testament texts contain a spiritual import. “Flee out of the midst of Babylon, and deliver every man his soul: be not cut off in her iniquity; for this is the time of the Lord’s vengeance; he will render unto her a recompense.” Jer. 51:6. This language is especially forcible at this present day. We have reached the time of the Lord’s vengeance. “Babylon hath been a golden cup in the Lord’s hand, that made all the earth drunken: the nations have drunken of her wine; therefore the nations are mad.” Jer. 51:7. The woman (mystery Babylon and her daughters) sitting upon the scarlet-colored beast had a golden cup in her hand. Rev. 17:4. The day was, as we have before spoken, when God did save some souls in sectism and gave them the Holy Spirit’s power. But Satan has succeeded in emptying the golden cup of that which was divine and filled it with intoxicating potions that have allured nations to commit fornication with her. “Babylon is suddenly fallen and destroyed: howl for her; take balm for her pain, if so be she may be healed. We would have healed Babylon, but she is not healed: forsake her, and let us go every one into his own country: for her judgment reacheth unto heaven, and is lifted up even to the skies.” Jer. 51:8, 9. Babylon can never be healed. She will not be healed. She is irredeemable. Destruction is her doom. “Forsake her and let us go every one into his own country.” Hear the lamentation of the children of God in their captivity in Babylon: “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows, in the midst thereof. For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” Psa. 137:1-4. Perishing souls in sectism would love to serve God better, but in their captivity they can not sing the songs of praise and glory. Babylon. By thy dark deceptive waters, Sighing, moaning, troubled sea, Captives sing their songs of sorrow, Hoping, longing to be free. Who shall sing the songs of Zion On thy banks, O raging sea? The voice of bridegroom and the bride Is heard no more at all in thee. Golden days are gone forever, Days now dark and dreary be; Harps untuned and silent ever, Silent by the moaning sea. Sadly weeping stands the willow On thy shore, O surging sea; ’Neath its shade my steps shall never, Never, never more shall be.