Isaac Watts

Hymn 146

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The vanity of creatures; or, No rest on earth.

Man has a soul of vast desires,
He burns within with restless fires;
Tossed to and fro, his passions fly
From vanity to vanity.

In vain on earth we hope to find
Some solid good to fill the mind;
We try new pleasures, but we feel
The inward thirst and torment still.

So when a raging fever burns,
We shift from side to side by turns,
And 'tis a poor relief we gain,
To change the place, but keep the pain.

Great God, subdue this vicious thirst,
This love to vanity and dust;
Cure the vile fever of the mind,
And feed our souls with joys refined.

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Isaac Watts