Woe to the Man, Eternal Woe

Woe to the man

eter­nal woe

To Him by whom th’of­fense doth come!

His lot and por­tion are be­low

His sen­tence is th’apos­tate’s doom;

Plunged in the depths of grief un­less

With brok­en heart his crime he feel;

A load of guilt shall soon de­press

His soul to the pro­found­est hell.

Ah

Sav­ior

keep my trem­bling heart

Which feels its own in­fir­mi­ty;

One mo­ment

Lord

if Thou depart

The dire of­fense will come by me;

But if my­self I al­ways fear

Thou wilt dis­play Thy guard­ian love

And give me grace to per­sev­ere

Till safe with Thee I rest ab­ove.