1 Unstable souls, the slaves of sense,
The tempter oft beguiles,
Approaching with some fair pretense,
He veils his artful wiles.
2 Sometimes he tempts us to presume,
And then to deep despair;
Tells us, in Christ there is no room,
No refuge for us there.
3 To youth he says, "’Tis yet too soon,
A dying prayer will do";
To hoary age, "The time is gone,
To form the life anew."
4 When carnal objects we pursue,
He strews them in our way,
Enticing baits presents to view,
And makes us soon his prey.
5 Now he assumes a form divine,
The simple to allure,
Extols their duties with design,
Their ruin to secure.
6 A God all mercy or all wrath,
He’ll place before our view,
Severe to mark the least offense,
Or careless what we do.
7 Great God, his various schemes confound,
Bind up this haughty foe;
Then shall our tongues Thy praise resound,
Our hearts with joy o’erflow.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #16244
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