Heaven: No More Doom

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.

 

They Wail and Cry: Doom

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.

Worse than Amorites and Sodomites: Doom

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.“

Lake of Fire: Doom

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)
Wicked men and Devils cast into it forever.

CCIX. 

With Iron bands they bind their hands
and curséd feet together,
And cast them all, both great and small,
into that Lake forever,
Where day and night, without respite,
they wail, and cry and howl,
For tort’ring pain which they sustain,
in Body and in Soul.

CCX. 

For day and night, in their despite,
their torment’s smoke ascendeth.
Their pain and grief have no relief,
their anguish never endeth.
There must they lie and never die,
though dying every day;
There must they dying ever lie,
and not consume away.

CCXI.

Die fain they would if die they could,
but Death will not be had;
God’s direful wrath their bodies hath
forev’r immortal made.
They live to lie in misery,
and bear eternal woe;
And live they must whilst God is just,
that he may plague them so.

The unsufferable torments of the Damned.

CCXII. 

But who can tell the plagues of Hell,
and torments exquisite?
Who can relate their dismal state,
and terrors infinite?
Who fare the best and feel the least,
yet feel that punishment
Whereby to nought they would be brought
if God did not prevent.

CCXIII. 

The least degree of misery
there felt is incomparable;
The lightest pain they there sustain
is more than intolerable.
But God’s great pow’r from hour to hour
upholds them in the fire,
That they shall not consume a jot
nor by its force expire.