This World Is All Enchanted Ground

This world is all en­chant­ed ground

O whi­ther shall I fly?

The venge­ful flames are kind­ling round

And if I stop

I die.

When some kind hand has brought me forth

How lin­ger­ing is my pace!

Lord

ei­ther drive me by Thy wrath

Or draw me by Thy grace.

O let me not a mo­ment waste

On this de­struct­ive plain;

Hence let me flee with great­er haste

Till I the Zo­ar gain.