Fools Make a Mock at Sin

Fools make a mock at sin

And with de­struct­ion sport;

But death will stop their sim­ple grin

And cut their laugh­ter short.

Bethink

oh

thought­less man

What mi­se­ry sin brings forth;

All sor­row

sick­ness

want

and pain

From sin re­ceive their birth.

On an­gels sin has cast

Destruction with­out end;

Through sin the heav’n­ly form they lost

And sunk in­to a fiend!

The sin thou lov­est well

At last will make thee mourn;

It has blown up a fire in hell

Which will for ev­er burn.

Sin bring­eth ghast­ly woe

Yet comes with leer­ing face!

Regard it as thy dead­ly foe

And fly its foul em­brace.

Lord

give me god­ly fear

And keep me watch­ful

too

Else I may sit in scorn­er’s chair

And mock as scorn­ers do.