1 Hell! 'tis a word of dreadful sound;
It chills the heart and shocks the ear;
It spreads a sickly damp around,
And makes the guilty quake with fear.
2 Far from the utmost verge of day,
Its frightful, gloomy region lies;
Fierce flames amidst the darkness play,
And thick sulphureous vapours rise.
3 Conscience, the never-dying worm,
With constant torture gnaws the heart,
And woe and wrath, in every form,
Inflame the wounds, increase the smart.
4 The wretches rave, o'erwhelm'd with woe,
And bite their everlasting chains;
But with their rage their torments grow,
Resentment but augments their pains.
5 Sad world indeed! what heart can bear,
Hopeless, in all these pains to lie;
Rack'd with vexation, grief, despair,
And ever dying, never die!
6 "Lord, save a guilty soul from hell,
Who seeks Thy pardoning, cleansing blood;
O let me in Thy kingdom dwell,
To praise my Saviour and my God."
Source: The Book of Worship #450