1 With radiant beams the sun arose
On Sodom’s fated towers;
In pleasure’s round, and false repose,
They spend the cheerful hours.

2 Lot’s warning voice they mocking heard,
Their hearts, elate with pride,
No joy withheld, no danger feared—
The prophet they deride.

3 In vain he pleads, "Fly, sinner fly…
Behold destruction near!"
"Empty enthusiast," they reply,
And ridicule his fear.

4 But sudden o’er the trembling ground,
The heav’ns tremendous lower;
And streams of fire and brimstone round,
In torrents downward pour.

5 They scream…they fly…no hope remains—
Blaspheme—in flames expire;
Lot, safe in Zoar a refuge gains—
"A brand plucked from the fire."

6 Sinner, behold—the warning take;
This moment hear and fear:
For if the righteous scarce escape,
O where wilt thou appear?