Classic Poem

A Pit indeed of Sin: No water's here:
— — Whose bottom's furthest off from Heaven bright,
And is next doore to Hell Gate, to it neer:
— — And here I dwell in sad and solemn night,
— — My Gold-Fincht Angell Feathers dapled in
— — Hells Scarlet Dy fat, blood red grown with Sin.

I in this Pit all Destitute of Light
— — Cram'd full of Horrid Darkness, here do Crawle
Up over head, and Eares, in Nauseous plight:
— — And Swinelike Wallow in this mire, and Gall:
— — No Heavenly Dews nor Holy Waters drill:
— — Nor Sweet Aire Brieze, nor Comfort here distill.

Here for Companions, are Fears, Heart-Achs, Grief
— — Frogs, Toads, Newts, Bats, Horrid Hob-Goblins, Ghosts:
Ill Spirits haunt this Pit: and no reliefe:
— — Nor Coard can fetch me hence in Creatures Coasts.
— — I who once lodgd at Heavens Palace Gate
— — With full Fledgd Angells, now possess this fate.

But yet, my Lord, thy golden Chain of Grace
— — Thou canst let down, and draw mee up into
Thy Holy Aire, and Glory's Happy Place.
— — Out from these Hellish damps and pit so low.
— — And if thy Grace shall do't, My Harp I'le raise,
— — Whose Strings toucht by this Grace, Will twang thy praise.