Whence come those loud and mourn­ful cries,
That speak a mind be­reft of joy?
They come from him who yon­der lies,
Where flames de­vour, but can’t de­stroy.

I won­der not that he should fill
The world with loud in­ces­sant cries;
He feels no joy, nor ev­er will;
His foe the worm that nev­er dies.

One drop of wa­ter! one! he cries:
Unhappy wretch! what woe is thine?
While Jus­tice with a frown re­plies,
It can­not be—the pris­on­er’s mine!

Beholding such a sight as this,
Let things eter­nal be my care
And nev­er may my case be his,
Whom God aban­dons to des­pair.

I’ll keep in view the sinn­er’s friend,
Whose arms I see ex­tende­d wide:
At sight of Him, my ter­rors end;
His mer­it all my guilt will hide.