A Lion, though by nature wild,

The art of man can tame;

He stands before his keeper, mild,

And gentle as a lamb.

He watches, with submissive eye,

The hand that gives him food;

As if he meant to testify

A sense of gratitude.

But man himself, who thus subdues

The fiercest beasts of prey;

A nature, more unfeeling shows,

And far more fierce than they.

Though by the LORD preserved and fed,

He proves rebellious still;

And while he eats his Maker’s bread,

Resists his holy will.

Alike in vain, of grace that saves,

Or threat’ning law he hears;

The savage scorns, blasphemes, and raves,

But neither loves nor fears.

O Savior! how thy wondrous pow’r

By angels is proclaimed!

When in thine own appointed hour,

They see this lion tamed.

The love thy bleeding cross displays,

The hardest heart subdues;

Here furious lions while they gaze,

Their rage and fierceness lose.

Yet are we but renewed in part,

The lion still remains;

LORD, drive him wholly from my heart,

Or keep him fast in chains.