1 Wealth is a blessing only lent,
To be repaid by deeds of love;
God gives his bounties to be spent,
To hoard them will his anger move.

2 The world's esteem is but a bribe;
To buy its peace we sell our own,
Enslav'd by an applauding tribe,
Who hate us while they make us known.

3 The joy that vain amusements give,
To him who thoughtless sports and sings,
Is like the honey of a hive,
When guarded by a thousand stings.

4 'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
Thank live upon her treach'rous smiles;
She leads them, blindfold by here rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.

5 'Tis thus that thousands hasten down
From pleasure, into endless woe;
And with a long despairing groan,
Blaspheme their Maker as they go.

6 Warn'd by their woes, may we be wise,
Delighting in a Saviour's charms;
Then God will take us to the skies,
Embrac'd in everlasting arms.