Isaac Watts · 654 of 724

Hymn 146

Man has a soul of vast desires, He burns within with restless fires; Tossed to and fro, his passions fly From vanity to vanity.

In vain on earth we hope to find Some solid good to fill the mind; We try new pleasures, but we feel The inward thirst and torment still.

So when a raging fever burns, We shift from side to side by turns, And 'tis a poor relief we gain, To change the place, but keep the pain.

Great God, subdue this vicious thirst, This love to vanity and dust; Cure the vile fever of the mind, And feed our souls with joys refined.