1 I hate the Tempter and his Charms,
I hate his flatt'ring Breath;
The Serpent takes a Thousand Forms
To cheat our Souls to Death.

2 He feeds our Hopes with airy Dreams,
Or kills with slavish Fear;
And holds us still in wide Extremes,
Presumption, or Despair.

3 Now he persuades, how easy 'tis
To walk the Road to Heav'n;
Anon he swells our Sins, and cries,
They cannot be forgiv'n.

[4 He bids young Sinners, Yet forbear
To think of God or Death;
For Prayer and Devotion are
But melancholy Breath.

5 He tells the Aged, They must die,
And 'tis too late to pray;
In vain for Mercy now they cry,
"For they have lost their Day.]

6 Thus he supports his cruel Throne
By Mischief and Deceit;
And drags the Sons of Adam down
To Darkness and the Pit.

7 Almighty God, cut short his Pow'r,
Let him in Darkness dwell;
And, that he vex the Earth no more,
Confine him down to Hell.