A Deep and bottomless abyss,
My drear and dismal dungeon is,
And all its walls are rais'd so high,
That none can o'er it hope to fly.
With liquid fire it ever glows,
And, like a boiling sea, o'erflows,
Mov'd by the breath of God, its tide
With flaming sulphur rages wide.
Once lit, it always flames amain,
Nor ever can be quench'd again,
Though never blown, it blazes high,
And needs no stirring, nor supply.
Though fiercely burning it remains,
And causes agonizing pains,
Yet undiminish'd still it lasts,
And not the least in burning wastes.
This penal fire is still the same,
Though diff'rent its degrees of flame;
Some feel a fierce or fainter fire,
Just as their various crimes require.
As the sun warms, on India's sands,
Much more than in the Ruffian lands;
So hell exerts a greater heat,
To punish those whose crimes are great.
Not one is in this dungeon found,
Who, hand and foot, is not well bound,
And in eternal chains tied fast,
For all his sins, and follies past.
Thro' all its boundless, drear, domains,
A darkness palpable still reigns;
Nor ever, since the world was made,
Has light illum'd the joyless glade.
'Tis fetid, to the last degree,
A stench more noisome cannot be
Though thousands still the sink defile,
It never has been cleans'd the while.
There worms insatiate ever prey
On conscious sinners, night and day -
A sort of worms, that never die,
But gnaw to all eternity!
More than ten thousand devils stand
Around the damn'd, a dreadful band,
And to torment them never cease,
Without an hour, or moment's ease.
Yet though they never cease to beat,
(Their hellish rancour is so great!)
And bruise the damn'd almost to death,
They never stop to take their breath.
These everlasting tortures fall,
Without respect of rank on all;
Yet each does seperately smart,
But chiefly in the pecant part.
No objects there the eye e'er sees,
But gastly ghosts of all degrees,
And wretched souls that ever weep,
In this unfathomable deep.
No food their famish'd mouths e'er taste,
But locusts' gall, a dire repast!
No drink they have, but when they sup
The dregs of God's displeasure up.
Their ears no other music know,
But shrieks of fiends, and sounds of woe,
And the unsufferable yell
Of those, who gnash their teeth in hell.
On red-hot coals the tongue is broil'd,
Or else in bubbling sulphur boil'd,
Without a drop of drink t' assuage
The fire's intolerable rage.
The nostrils ev'ry brimstone-gale,
Which from the dungeon reeks, inhale,
A place, ne'er cleans'd, since Adam fell,
And fraught with ev'ry filthy smell.
Bound with an adamantine chain
The hands and feet of all remain,
So that they cannot move, or turn
From that same spot, wherein they burn.
All grate their teeth with shocking grin,
With hideous yells and horrid din,
That terror and amazement seize,
Who hears their moans, and manners sees.
The gnawing worm, that never dies,
In ev'ry conscious bosom lies,
And tears voraciously its prey,
Yet never can its hunger lay.
As all my members sinn'd, each part,
Even my tongue itself, does smart ;
But ev'ry member does sustain,
For diff'rent sins, a diff'rent pain.
As ev'ry limb some evil bears,
And ev'ry part some torment shares,
So shall those evils all attend
The wicked, without pause or end.
Ne'er shall th' avenging worm expire,
Ne'er shall be quench'd the penal fire,
And death, to all entreaties dumb,
To end their pains, will never come.
The deluge, in a year, retir'd,
And, in a day, was Sodom fir'd,
Sev'n years, the Egyptian famine rag'd;
But my pains, ne'er, can be assuag'd.
If in a thousand years, or so,
Those pains shou'd some cessation know,
Some comfort to my heart 'twould give:
But I in endless woe must live!
The word of God my heart dismays,
The word e'en on my vitals preys -
The word is to my soul a snare -
The word e'en drives me to despair.
To bear such hellish pains, is hard,
But harder 'tis, to be debarr'd
My Saviour's presence, and resign
Heav'n's joys, and company divine.
To lose my life, and vast reward -
To lose Christ and his saints, is hard -
'Tis hard, heav'n and its joys to miss,
With God himself, and ev'ry bliss!
May blackest curses blast the morn,
The very hour, when I was born!
May hell, too, prove my mother's doom,
That toads she bare not in my room!
I wish that she my neck had broke,
Or chopp'd my head off at a stroke,
When she so vile a son did bear,
An angry Godhead's wrath to fear.
There's neither fiend, nor sinner found
In hell, and all its cells around,
That does not join, both small and great,
Me, hopeless wretch! in turn to beat.
There's not a soul, since Adam fell,
That suffers greater pains in hell -
Nor any one, that undergoes
More grievous wants or greater woes.
Such are my pains! such my distress!
Such heavy woes my soul oppress!
Such is the state I now am in,
Each hour tormented for my sin!
My Brethren, therefore, I advise
You, and each sinner that is wise,
Take warning (ere the day of death)
Or you will go to hell beneath.
If you don't leave each sinful way,
And ev'ry Christian rule obey,
The God of vengeance won't, I know,
To you, than me, more mercy show.
That none of us may ever dwell
With Dives in the flames of hell,
Let us reflect, ere 'tis too late,
What torments Satan's slaves await!