When those in Glory shall be right sorry they may not change their place, And wish to dwell with those in Hell, never to see Christ's face; Then those in pain may freedom gain and be with Glory dight: Then Hellish fiends may be Christ's Friends, and Heirs of Heavén hight. Then, ah! poor men! What! not till then? No, not an hour before; For God is just, and therefore must torment them evermore. ETERNITY! ETERNITY! thou mak'st hard hearts to bleed: The thoughts of thee in misery, do make men wail indeed. When they remind what's still behind and ponder this word NEVER, That they must there be made to bear God's Vengéance for EVER: The thought of this more bitter is than all they feel beside; Yet what they feel, nor heart of steel, nor flesh of brass can bide. To lie in woe and undergo the direful pains of Hell, And know withal, that there they shall for aye and ever dwell; And that they are from rest as far when fifty thousand year, Twice told, are spent in punishment, as when they first came there; This, oh! this makes Hell's fiery flakes much more intolerable; This makes frail wights and damnéd sprites to bear their plagues unable. This makes men bite, for fell despite, their very tongues in twain; This makes them roar for great horror, and trebleth all their pain. A POSTSCRIPT UNTO THE READER. And now, good Reader, I return again To talk with thee who hast been at the pain To read throughout and heed what went before; And unto thee I'll speak a little more. Give ear I pray thee unto what I say, That God may hear thy voice another day. Thou hast a Soul, my Friend, and so have I, To save or lose; a Soul that cannot die; A Soul of greater price than Gold or Gems; A Soul more worth than Crowns and Diadems; A Soul at first created like its Maker, And of God's Image made to be partaker: Upon the wings of noblest Faculties, Taught for to soar above the Starry Skies, And not to rest, until it understood Itself possessed of the chiefest Good. And since the Fall thy Soul retaineth still Those faculties of Reason and of Will, But oh! how much deprav'd and out of frame, As if they were some other's, not the same! Thine Understanding dismally benighted, And Reason's eye in Spir'tual things dim-sighted, Or else stark blind; thy Will inclin'd to evil, And nothing else; a slave unto the Devil; That loves to live, and liveth to transgress, But shuns the way of God and Holiness. All thine Affections are disorderéd, And thus by headstrong Passions are misled. What need I tell thee of thy crooked way, And many wicked wand'rings every day? Or that thine own transgressi-ons are more In number than the sands upon the Shore? Thou art a lump of wickedness become, And may'st with horror think upon thy Doom, Until thy Soul be washéd in the flood