2018-04-18 09:50:31 UTC
(a found poem)
The God that holds you
over the pit of hell,
much as one holds a spider
or some loathsome insect
over the fire, abhors you,
and is dreadfully provoked.
His wrath towards you burns like fire;
he looks upon you as worthy
of nothing else but to be cast
into the fire.
He is of purer eyes
than to bear you in his sight;
you are ten thousand times as abominable
in his eyes as the most hateful, venomous
serpent is in ours.
You have offended him infinitely
more than ever a stubborn rebel
did his prince, and yet it is nothing
but his hand that holds you
from falling into the fire
every moment. It is to be ascribed to nothing
else that you did not got to hell
the last night; that you were suffered
to awake again in this world,
after you closed your eyes
to sleep. And there is no other
reason to be given why
you have not dropped into hell
since you arose in the morning,
but that God's hand has held you up.
There is no other reason to be given
why you have not gone to hell
since you have sat here
in the house of God
provoking his pure eye
by your sinful, wicked manner
of attending his solemn worship.
Yea, there is nothing else
that is to be given as a reason
why you do not this very moment
drop down into hell.
(from Jonathan Edwards, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God/)