Doom
Ye Slothful!
The hour of dread is upon you
When the perfect thing shall be accomplished.
The defiler of law
May meet God down avenues of hot sin.
You — performers of nothing,
Who weave your little mats in damp valleys,
What use had mighty God, or a strong devil, for your shrunk souls?
There is black Hell or clear Heaven for the souls of the Willers;
Surely there is an eternal scrap-heap for the souls of the Slothful!
For the rejected of Heaven,
For the throw-outs of any incontemptible Hell.
The hour of dread is upon you
When the perfect thing shall be accomplished.
The defiler of law
May meet God down avenues of hot sin.
You — performers of nothing,
Who weave your little mats in damp valleys,
What use had mighty God, or a strong devil, for your shrunk souls?
There is black Hell or clear Heaven for the souls of the Willers;
Surely there is an eternal scrap-heap for the souls of the Slothful!
For the rejected of Heaven,
For the throw-outs of any incontemptible Hell.
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