Isaac Watts · 453 of 724

Hymn 95

Not all the outward forms on earth, Nor rites that God has giv'n, Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth, Can raise a soul to heav'n.

The sovereign will of God alone Creates us heirs of grace Born in the image of his Son, A new, peculiar race.

The Spirit, like some heav'nly wind, Blows on the sons of flesh, New-models all the carnal mind, And forms the man afresh.

Our quickened souls awake, and rise From the long sleep of death; On heav'nly things we fix our eyes, And praise employs our breath.