Isaac Watts

Hymn 48

 Next Poem          

Love to the creatures is dangerous.

How vain are all things here below!
How false, and yet how fair!
Each pleasure hath its poison too,
And every sweet a snare.

The brightest things below the sky
Give but a flatt'ring light;
We should suspect some danger nigh
Where we possess delight.

Our dearest joys, and nearest friends,
The partners of our blood,
How they divide our wav'ring minds,
And leave but half for God!

The fondness of a creature's love,
How strong it strikes the sense!
Thither the warm affections move,
Nor can we call them thence.

Dear Savior! let thy beauties be
My soul's eternal food;
And grace command my heart away
From all created good.

Next Poem 

 Back to
Isaac Watts