Hymn 143 by Isaac Watts

So new-born babes desire the breast,
To feed, and grow, and thrive;
So saints with joy the gospel taste,
And by the gospel live.

With inward gust their heart approves
All that the word relates;
They love the men their Father loves,
And hate the works he hates.

Not all the flatt'ring baits on earth
Can make them slaves to lust;
They can't forget their heav'nly birth,
Nor grovel in the dust.

Not all the chains that tyrants use
Shall bind their souls to vice;
Faith, like a conqueror, can produce
A thousand victories.

Grace, like an uncorrupting seed,
Abides and reigns within;
Immortal principles forbid
The sons of God to sin.

Not by the terrors of a slave
Do they perform his will,
But with the noblest powers they have
His sweet commands fulfil.

They find access at every hour
To God within the veil;
Hence they derive a quick'ning power,
And joys that never fail.

O happy souls! O glorious state
Of overflowing grace!
To dwell so near their Father's seat,
And see his lovely face!

Lord, I address thy heav'nly throne;
Call me a child of thine;
Send down the Spirit of thy Son
To form my heart divine.

There shed thy choicest loves abroad,
And make my comforts strong:
Then shall I say, "My Father God!"
With an unwav'ring tongue.

by Isaac Watts

Other poems by 'Isaac Watts'

Hymn 121

Hymn 122

Hymn 152

Hymn 153

Hymn 154

Hymn 155

Hymn 156

Hymn 157

Hymn 158

Hymn 159

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