Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705
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.
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.
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
“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.“