Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)

Their eternal happiness and incomparable glory there.

CCXXI.

Oh glorious Place! where face to face
Jehovah may be seen,
By such as were sinners while here,
and no dark veil between!
Where the Sunshine and light Divine
of God’s bright countenance,
Doth rest upon them every one,
with sweetest influence!

CCXXII.

Oh blessed state of the Renate!
Oh wond’rous happiness.
To which they’re brought beyond what thought
can reach or words express!
Grief’s watercourse and sorrow’s source
are turn’d to joyful streams;
Their old distress and heaviness
are vanished like dreams.

CCXXIII.

For God above in arms of love
doth dearly them embrace.
And fills their sprights with such delights,
and pleasures in his Grace,
As shall not fail, nor yet grow stale,
through frequency of use;
Nor do they fear God’s favor there
to forfeit by abuse.

CCXXIV.

For there the Saints are perfect Saints,
and holy ones indeed;
From all the sin that dwelt within
their mortal bodies freed;
Made Kings and Priests to God through Christ’s
dear Love’s transcendency,
There to remain and there to reign
with him Eternally.

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)

CCXVIII.

Thus shall they lie and wail and cry,
tormented and tormenting;
Their galléd hearts with poison’d darts,
but now too late repenting.
There let them dwell in th’ Flames of Hell:
there leave we them to burn,
And back again unto the men
whom Christ acquits, return.

The Saints rejoice to see the Judgment executed upon the Wicked World.

CCXIX.

The Saints behold with courage bold
and thankful wonderment,
To see all those that were their foes
thus sent to punishment.
Then do they sing unto their King
a Song of endless Praise;
They praise his Name and do proclaim
that just are all his ways.

They ascend with Christ into Heaven triumphing.

CCXX.

Thus with great joy and melody
to Heav’n they all ascend,
Him there to praise with sweetest lays,
and Hymns that never end;
Where with long rest they shall be blest,
and naught shall them annoy,
Where they shall see as seen they be,
and whom they love enjoy.

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705

CCXIV.

But, ah, the woe they undergo
(they more than all beside)
Who had the light, and knew the right,
yet would not it abide!
The sev’n fold smart which to their part
and porti-on doth fall.
Who Christ’s free Grace would not embrace,
nor hearken to his call.

CCXV.

The Amorites and Sodomites,
although their plagues be sore,
Yet find some ease compar’d to these,
who feel a great deal more.
Almighty God, whose Iron Rod,
to smite them never lins.
Doth most declare his Justice rare
in plaguing these men’s sins.

CCXVI.

The pain of loss their souls doth toss,
and wond’rously distress,
To think what they have cast away
by willful wickedness.
“We might have been redeem’d from sin,”
think they, “and liv’d above.
Being possesst of Heav’nly rest,
and joying in God’s love

CCXVII.

“But woe, woe, woe, our Souls unto!
we would not happy be;
And therefore bear God’s vengeance here
to all Eternity.
Experience and woful sense
must be our painful teachers,
Who’d not believe, nor credit give
unto our faithful Preachers.“