No pro­phet, nor dream­er of dreams,
No mas­ter of plau­si­ble speech,
To live like an an­gel who seems,
Or like an apos­tle to preach;
No tempt­er, with­out or with­in,
No spir­it, tho’ ev­er so bright,
That comes cry­ing out against sin,
And looks like an an­gel of light;

Tho’ rea­son, tho’ fit­ness he urge,
Or plead with the words of a friend,
Or won­ders of ar­gu­ment forge,
Or deep re­ve­la­tions pre­tend,
Should meet with a mo­ment’s re­gard,
But ra­ther be bold­ly with­stood,
If any thing, ea­sy or hard,
He teach, save the Lamb and His blood.

Remember, O Chris­tian, with heed,
When sunk un­der sen­tence of death,
How first thou from bond­age wast freed;
Say, was it by works, or by faith?
On Christ thy af­fect­ions then fixed,
What con­ju­gal truth didst thou vow!
With Him was there any thing mixed?
Then what wouldst thou mix with Him now?

If close to the Lord thou wouldst cleave,
Depend on His pro­mise alone;
His right­eous­ness wouldst thou re­ceive,
Then learn to re­nounce all thy own;
The faith of a Chris­tian in­deed
Is more than mere no­tion or whim;
United to Je­sus, his head,
He draws life and vir­tue from Him.

Deceived by the fa­ther of lies,
Blind guides cry, Lo here! and Lo there!
By these our Re­deem­er us tries,
And warns us of such to be­ware.
Poor com­fort to mourn­ers they give,
Who set us to la­bor in vain;
And strive, with a Do this and live
To drive us to Egypt again.

But what says our Shep­herd di­vine?
For His bless­èd word we should keep;
This flock has My Fa­ther made Mine,
I lay down My life for My sheep;
’Tis life ev­er­last­ing I give,
My blood was the price that it cost;
Not one that on Me shall be­lieve,
Shall ev­er be fi­nal­ly lost.

This God is the God we adore,
Our faith­ful, un­change­able friend,
Whose love is as large as His pow­er,
And nei­ther knows mea­sure nor end;
’Tis Je­sus, the first and the last,
Whose Spir­it shall guide us safe home;
We’ll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.