God Gives His Mercies to Be Spent

God gives His mer­cies to be spent;

Your hoard will do your soul no good:

Gold is a bless­ing on­ly lent

Repaid by giv­ing oth­ers food.

The world’s es­teem is but a bribe

To buy their peace you sell your own;

The slave of a vain­glo­ri­ous tribe

Who hate you while they make you known.

The joy that vain amuse­ments give

O! sad con­clu­sion that it brings!

The ho­ney of a crowd­ed hive

Defended by a thou­sand stings.

’Tis thus the world re­wards the fools

That live up­on her trea­cher­ous smiles:

She leads them

blind­fold

by her rules

And ru­ins all whom she be­guiles.

God knows the thou­sands who go down

From plea­sure in­to end­less woe;

And with a long des­pair­ing groan

Blaspheme their mak­er as they go.

Oh fear­ful thought! be time­ly wise;

Delight but in a Sav­ior’s charms

And God shall take you to the skies

Embraced in ev­er­last­ing arms.