Lake of Fire: Doom

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


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


Burning Hell: Doom

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)
It is put in Execution.


That word “Depart,” maugre their heart,
drives every wicked one,
With mighty pow’r, the self-same hour,
far from the Judge’s Throne.
Away they’re chas’d by the strong blast
of his Death-threat’ning mouth;
They flee full fast, as if in haste,
although they be full loath.


As chaff that’s dry, as dust doth fly
before the Northern wind.
Right so are they chaséd away,
and can no Refuge find.
They hasten to the Pit of Woe,
guarded by Angels stout.
Who to fulfil Christ’s holy Will,
attend this wickéd Rout;



Whom having brought as they are taught,
unto the brink of Hell,
(That dismal place, far from Christ’s face,
where Death and Darkness dwell,
Where God’s fierce Ire kindleth the fire,
and vengeance feeds the flame.
With piles of Wood and Brimstone Flood,
so none can quench the same,)

The Terror Of It

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)


Oh piercing words, more sharp than swords!
What! to depart from Thee,
Whose face before for evermore
the best of Pleasures be!
What! to depart (unto our smart),
from thee Eternally!
To be for aye banish’d away
with Devils’ company!


What! to be sent to Punishment,
and flames of burning Fire!
To be surrounded, and eke confounded
with God’s revengeful Ire!
What! to abide, not for a tide,
these Torments, but for Ever!
To be releas’d, or to be eas’d,
not after years, but Never!


Oh fearful Doom! now there’s no room
for hope or help at all;
Sentence is past which aye shall last;
Christ will not it recall.
Then might you hear them rend and tear
the Air with their out-cries;
The hideous noise of their sad voice
ascendeth to the Skies.


They wring their hands, their caitiff-hands,
and gnash their teeth for terror;
They cry, they roar for anguish sore,
and gnaw their tongues for horror.
But get away without delay,
Christ pities not your cry;
Depart to Hell, there may you yell,
and roar Eternally.

In Hell with Devils: Doom

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)


One natural Brother beholds another
in his astonied fit.
Yet sorrows not thereat a jot,
nor pities him a whit.
The godly Wife conceives no grief
nor can she shed a tear
For the sad state of her dear Mate,
when she his doom doth hear.


He that was erst a Husband pierc’d
with sense of Wife’s distress.
Whose tender heart did bear a part
of all her grievances,
Shall mourn no more as heretofore,
because of her ill plight.
Although he see her now to be
a damn’d forsaken wight.


The tender Mother will own no other
of all her num’rous brood,
But such as stand at Christ’s right hand,
acquitted through his Blood.
The pious Father had now much rather
his graceless Son should lie
In Hell with Devils, for all his evils,
burning eternally,


Than God most High should injury
by sparing him sustain;
And doth rejoice to hear Christ’s voice,
adjudging him to pain.
Thus having all, both great and small,
convinc’d and silencéd,
Christ did proceed their Doom to read,
and thus it utteréd:

The Judge pronounceth the sentence of condemnation.


Ye sinful wights and curséd sprights,
that work iniquity,
Depart together from me for ever
to endless Misery;
Your portion take in yonder Lake,
where Fire and Brimstone flameth;
Suffer the smart which your desert,
as its due wages claimeth.“