With radiant beams the sun arose
On Sodom’s fated towers;
In pleasure’s round, and false repose,
They spend the cheerful hours.
Lot’s warning voice they mocking heard,
Their hearts, elate with pride,
No joy withheld, no danger feared—
The prophet they deride.
In vain he pleads,
Fly, sinner fly…
Behold destruction near!
Empty enthusiast, they reply,
And ridicule his fear.
But sudden o’er the trembling ground,
The heav’ns tremendous lower;
And streams of fire and brimstone round,
In torrents downward pour.
They scream…they fly…no hope remains—
Blaspheme—in flames expire;
Lot, safe in Zoar a refuge gains—
A brand plucked from the fire.
Sinner, behold—the warning take;
This moment hear and fear:
For if the righteous scarce escape,
O where wilt thou appear?