How hurtful was the choice of Lot,Who took up his abode(Because it was a fruitful spot)With them who feared not God!
A prisoner he was quickly made,Bereaved of all his store;And, but for Abraham’s timely aid,He had returned no more.
Yet still he seemed resolved to stayAs if it were his rest;Although their sins from day to dayHis righteous soul distressed.
Awhile he stayed with anxious mind,Exposed to scorn and strife;At last he left his all behind,And fled to save his life.
In vain his sons-in-law he warned,They thought he told his dreams;His daughters too, of them had learned,And perished in the flames.
His wife escaped a little way,But died for looking back:Does not her case to pilgrims say,“Beware of growing slack?”
Yea; Lot himself could ling’ring stand,Though vengeance was in view;’Twas mercy plucked him by the hand,Or he had perished too.
The doom of Sodom wilt be oursIf to the earth we cleave;Lord, quicken all our drowsy pow’rs,To flee to Thee and live.