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My thoughts on woeful subjects roll,
 * Damnation and the dead,

What horrors seize a guilty foul,
 * Upon a dying bed.

Lingering about these mortal shores.
 * He makes a long delay

Till, like a flood with rapid force,
 * Death sweeps the wretched away.

Then, swift, and dreadful the descends,
 * Down to the fiery coast,

Amongst abominable friends,
 * Herself a frightful ghost.

There endless crowds of Sinners lie.
 * And darkness makes their chains:

Tortur'd with Keen dispair they cry,
 * Yet wait for fiercer pains.

Not all their anguish and their blood.
 * For their old guilt atones.

Nor the Compassion of a God,
 * Shall hearken to their groans

Oh I may thy grace prevent my breath
 * Nor bid my tool remove.

Till I have learn’d my Saviours deaths
 * And well insur’d his love.