How Hurtful Was the Choice of Lot

How hurt­ful was the choice of Lot

Who took up his abode

Because it was a fruit­ful spot

With them who feared not God!

A pri­son­er he was quick­ly made

Bereaved of all his store;

And

but for Ab­ra­ham’s time­ly aid

He had re­turned no more.

Yet still he seemed re­solved to stay

As if it were his rest;

Although their sins from day to day

His right­eous soul dis­tressed.

Awhile he stayed with an­xious mind

Exposed to scorn and strife;

At last he left his all be­hind

And fled to save his life.

In vain his sons-in-law he warned

They thought he told his dreams;

His daugh­ters too

of them had learned

And per­ished in the flames.

His wife es­caped a lit­tle way

But died for look­ing back:

Does not her case to pil­grims say

Beware of grow­ing slack?

Yea; Lot him­self could lin­ger­ing stand

Though ven­geance was in view;

’Twas mer­cy plucked him by the hand

Or he had per­ished too.

The doom of So­dom wilt be ours

If to the earth we cleave;

Lord

quick­en all our drow­sy pow­ers

To flee to Thee and live.