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 man their Fa­ther loves,
And hate the works He hates.

Not all the flat­ter­ing baits on earth
Can make them slaves to lust;
They can’t for­get their hea­ven­ly 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 un­cor­rupt­ed 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 ful­fill.

They ac­cess find at ev­ery hour
To God with­in the veil;
Hence they de­rive a quick­en­ing 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 hea­ven­ly 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 un­wav­er­ing tongue.