Joseph’s Alabaster Box

What awful fires rage down in Hell,

That fearful place where nothing’s well

Where souls of men are combustible,

And their life sentences are not adjustable.

“If only” echoes through each room

As wretched souls contemplate their doom.

Every soul in Hell believes in Him

Who died upon the cruel cross for them.

Brimstone makes a fearful fire

For foolish men whose sins are dire.

God will not be mocked, He plainly said,

And He will get you when you’re dead,

In sweet, cool water dip your finger,

And touch my parch’ed lips – don’t linger.

For I am tormented in this flame

Because I scorneded God’s holy name.

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