1 Vile tempt­er, quick be gone,
Thy snares are spread in vain;
Thy fie­ry darts, to wound my soul,
Retort on thee again.

2 Though in an an­gel’s form,
Through the dis­guise I see;
Thou art an ene­my to God,
A cru­el foe to me.

3 Thine art­ful stra­ta­gems
Shall teach me to be­ware;
Great is thy cru­el­ty and rage,
And great shall be my care.

4 Or should I fee­ble prove,
Know, Jesus is my friend;
Through Him thy base at­tempts shall fail,
And in con­fu­sion end.

5 He con­quered on the cross,
And will new con­quests gain;
Begone, se­duc­er vile, be gone,
Thy snares are spread in vain.