In what con­fu­sion earth ap­pears!
God’s dear­est child­ren bathed in tears;
While they, who Heav’n it­self de­ride
Riot in lux­ury and pride.

But pa­tient let my soul at­tend,
And, ere I cen­sure, view the end:
That end how dif­fer­ent who can tell?
The wide ex­tremes of Heav’n and hell.

See the red flames around him twine,
Who did in gold and pur­ple shine!
Nor can his tongue one drop ob­tain
T’allay the scorch­ing of his pain.

While round the saint, so poor be­low,
Full riv­ers of sal­va­tion flow;
On Ab­ram’s breast he leans his head,
And ban­quets on ce­les­ti­al bread.

Jesus, my Sav­ior, let me share
The mean­est of Thy serv­ants’ fare:
May I at last ap­proach to taste
The bless­ings of Thy mar­riage feast.