Blinded in youth by Satan’s arts,

The world to our unpracticed hearts,

A flatt’ring prospect bows;

Our fancy forms a thousand schemes,

Of gay delights, and golden dreams,

And undisturbed repose.

So in the desert’s dreary waste,

By magic pow’r produced in haste,

(As ancient fables say)

Castles, and groves, and music sweet,

The senses of the trav’ller meet,

And stop him in his way.

But while he listens with surprise,

The charm dissolves, the vision dies,

’Twas but enchanted ground;

Thus if the Lord our spirits touch,

The world, which promised us so much,

A wilderness is found.

At first we start, and feel distressed,

Convinced we never can have rest,

In such a wretched place;

But he whose mercy breaks the charm,

Reveals his own almighty arm,

And bids us seek his face.

Then we begin to live indeed,

When from our sin and bondage freed,

By this beloved Friend;

We follow him from day to day,

Assured of grace through all the way,

And glory at the end.