1 All round the globe does Sa­tan trace,
Nor keeps a cer­tain road;
Sworn foe to all the hu­man race,
And ene­my to God.

2 He forms his plots and lays them deep,
Th’unwary to de­coy;
Lo, now he flies, and now he creeps,
To ruin and de­stroy.

3 Alluring baits does he pre­sent,
To draw the soul to sin;
Excites to wrath and dis­con­tent,
Works ev­ery lust with­in.

4 Let rich and poor, and young and old,
Of Sa­tan’s wiles be­ware;
He to pre­sump­tion tempts the bold,
The ti­mid to des­pair.

5 He wan­ders still from place to place,
And waits th’un­guard­ed hour,
The tru­ly pi­ous to dis­tress,
The wick­ed to devour.

6 But thanks to our al­migh­ty king,
Who does his pow­er re­strain;
If Je­sus His as­sist­ance bring,
The temp­ter tempts in vain.