Isaac Watts · 518 of 724

Hymn 10

My soul forsakes her vain delight, And bids the world farewell, Base as the dirt beneath my feet, And mischievous as hell.

No longer will I ask your love, Nor seek your friendship more; The happiness that I approve Lies not within your power.

There's nothing round this spacious earth That suits my large desire To boundless joy and solid mirth My nobler thoughts aspire.

[Where pleasure rolls its living flood, From sin and dross refined, Still springing from the throne of God, And fit to cheer the mind;

Th' Almighty Ruler of the sphere, The glorious and the great, Brings his own all-sufficience there, To make our bliss complete.]

Had I the pinions of a dove, I'd climb the heav'nly road; There sits my Savior dressed in love, And there my smiling God.