Isaac Watts · 630 of 724

Hymn 122

My God, permit me not to be A stranger to myself and thee; Amidst a thousand thoughts I rove, Forgetful of my highest love.

Why should my passions mix with earth, And thus debase my heav'nly birth? Why should I cleave to things below, And let my God, my Savior, go?

Call me away from flesh and sense, One sovereign word can draw me thence; I would obey the voice divine, And all inferior joys resign.

Be earth with all her scenes withdrawn, Let noise and vanity begone; In secret silence of the mind My heav'n, and there my God, I find.