But God be blest who passed thee by.
And did a Saviour provide,
For Adam’s whole posterity,
All those who do in him confide.
Adieu, false fiend, I may not bide,
With thee I may no longer stay;
My God in death he was my guide,
O’er hell I’ll get the victory.
Then up the hill the poor wife went,
Oppressed with stinking flames and fear.