Enslaved to sense, to plea­sure prone,
Fond of cre­at­ed good,
Father, our help­less­ness we own,
And trem­bling taste our food.

Trembling we taste; for, ah! no more
To Thee the crea­tures lead;
Changed, they ex­ert a bane­ful pow­er,
And poi­son while they feed.

Cursed for the sake of wretch­ed man,
They now en­gross him whole;
With pleas­ing force on earth de­tain,
And sen­su­al­ize his soul.

Groveling on earth we still must lie,
Till Christ the curse re­peal;
Till Christ, des­cend­ing from on high,
Infected na­ture heal.

Come then, our hea­ven­ly Ad­am, come,
Thy heal­ing in­flu­ence give,
Hallow our food, re­verse our doom,
And bid us eat and live!

The bond­age of cor­rup­tion break!
For this our spi­rits groan;
Thy on­ly will we fain would seek,
O, save us from our own!

Turn the full stream of na­ture’s tide:
Let all our act­ions tend
To Thee, their source; Thy love the guide,
Thy glo­ry be the end.

Earth then a scale to Hea­ven shall be,
Sense shall point out the road,
The crea­tures all shall lead to Thee,
And all we taste be God.