by Issac Watts

Where-e'er my flatt'ring Passions rove
I find a lurking snare;
'Tis dangerous to let loose our love
Beneath th'eternal fair.

Souls whom the tie of friendship binds,
And partners of our blood,
Seize a large portion of our minds,
And leave the less for God.

Nature has soft but powerful bands,
And reason she controls;
While children with their little hands
Hang closest to our souls.

Thoughtless they act th'old serpent's part;
What tempting things they be!
Lord, how they twine about our heart,
And draw it off from thee!

Dear Sovereign, break these fetters off,
And set our spirits free;
God in himself is bliss enough,
For we have all in Thee.

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