Hymn 153 by Isaac Watts

Sin, like a venomous disease,
Infects our vital blood;
The only balm is sovereign grace,
And the physician, God.

Our beauty and our strength are fled,
And we draw near to death;
But Christ the Lord recalls the dead
With his almighty breath.

Madness by nature reigns within,
The passions burn and rage,
Till God's own Son, with skill divine,
The inward fire assuage.

We lick the dust, we grasp the wind,
And solid good despise;
Such is the folly of the mind,
Till Jesus makes us wise.

We give our souls the wounds they feel,
We drink the pois'nous gall,
And rush with fury down to hell;
But Heav'n prevents the fall.

The man possessed among the tombs
Cuts his own flesh, and cries;
He foams and raves, till Jesus comes,
And the foul spirit flies.

by Isaac Watts

Other poems by 'Isaac Watts'

Hymn 121

Hymn 122

Hymn 152

Hymn 154

Hymn 155

Hymn 156

Hymn 157

Hymn 158

Hymn 159

Hymn 16

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