Ah me! Llandovery, thou art wanting found,
For God thy sins has in the balance weigh'd;
In dross and dregs alone dost thou abound:
Of thy Creator henceforth be afraid!

A heavy rod long since prepar'd has been,
To punish thee for all thy sumless crimes,
And for thy daily-growing mass of sin:
To shun the punishment, repent betimes!

Long, e'er he strikes, the Deity will stay,
But heavy will his hoarded vengeance fall;
Thy long arrears and countless score he'll pay
In full, with double interest, once for all.

He gives thee time to mend each wicked way -
He gives thee frequent warnings, to repent -
Then take his warning - whilst 'tis yet to-day,
Or thou shalt soon thy negligence lament.

The longer God, out of mere mercy stays,
For thee thy sinful morals to amend;
Still worse and worse each day are all thy ways :
But woe, alas! be to thee in the end.

When the Almighty punishment delays,
And pours no vengeance on Religion's foes,
The more, each day, the treasur'd vengeance weighs:
The more thy sins, the heavier his blows.

In time, then, of the wrath divine take heed,
Though slack to come, yet it will surely come -
Its feet are down, but, ah! its fist is lead:
Though slow to strike, yet when it strikes, 'tis home.

Like Sodom and Gomorrah, thou art grown,
Which never from their odious vices turn'd
(Or like Samariah's superstitious town)
Until at length to dust and ashes burn'd.

As bad as Pharaoh's is thy callous heart,
Who was with a case-hard'ned conscience curs'd,
And wou'd not from his vicious ways depart,
'Till he by unexampled plagues was forc'd.

My cautions thou so often hast abus'd,
(For good advice was not to thee unknown)
That there's no room for thee to be excus'd:
Ah, woe is thee, thou poor unhappy Town!

Ere the cock crow'd, I rose each circling day,
Thy rebel passions striving to restrain,
In hopes to turn thee from each sinful way ;
But it was labour lost, and all in vain.

In heav'n's loud trump I blew a dreadful blast,
To shew how God pours vengeance on his foes;
Yet still thou snorest-on unto the last,
And nought can break thy perilous repose.

To thee the Gospel I full oft have read,
And all the promises therein contain'd,
To wooe thee in its sacred paths to tread;
Yet nought I thence, but heart-felt grief have gain'd.

I strove, with all the terrors of the law,
And God's dread plagues, to frighten thee from ill -
I strove to rein and curb thy stubborn jaw,
But thou art restiff, mad, and headstrong still.

I pip'd to thee, thou didst not like the sport -
I wept full sore, and yet thou didst not mourn -
Means, (fair and foul) I tried of ev'ry sort,
Yet thou didst nought but ridicule return.

What cou'd I, then, unhappy Town! do more,
Than to the brink of some lone stream retire,
And tears of blood for thy transgressions pour,
To see thee led to hell's eternal fire?

Who wou'd not weep to see the wily fiend
Draw thee along, e'en by a silken thread,
To that abyss, whose torments know no end,
By the sweet bait of carnal pleasure led?

Esau disposed of his birth-right of old,
A mess of pottage was the paltry price!
Thou, worse than him, the heav'ns themselves hast sold
For barley-broth - in spite of my advice.

'Tis this, alas! that cuts me to the heart,
When I thy numberless misdeeds survey -
That I must not presume to take thy part,
Or veil thy crimes, on God's tremendous day :

And yet 'tis hard, 'tis wondrous hard, alas!
A father, though by blood and nature mov'd,
The fatal sentence shou'd be forc'd to pass
Upon the crimes, e'en of his best-belov'd.

Yet this
will
be, may, this
must
be the case,
If soon thy sinful life thou dost not mend:
Then, for Christ's sake, these overtures embrace,
Ere God his plagues, to punish thee, shall send.

A veil of sack-cloth o'er thy body cast -
Weep, till thy bed in floods of tears be drown'd,
And neither meat, nor any liquor taste,
'Till for thy vices thou hast pardon found.

Thy bosom beat - thy hair by handfuls tear -
A-down thy cheeks let tears in torrents run,
And ne'er to own thy heinous crimes forbear -
But cry, 'Forgive me, Lord! the ill I've done.'

Uncleanness of all kind, and ev'ry guile,
Deceit, and fornication, cast away,
Avoid excess, and hide thy vices vile;
For God does all thy wickedness survey.

A dreadful doom hangs o'er thee, ev'ry day,
Suspended only by a slender thread,
And yet thy sins with one accord assay,
To pull it down upon thy guilty head,

Beware then - hold thy hand, and sin no more;
As swift as light'ning is the wrath divine:
I give thee all the warning in my pow'r,
If thou refusest it, the fault is thine.