Mistaken souls, that dream of Heav’n,
And make their emp­ty boast
Of in­ward joys, and sins for­giv’n,
While they are slaves to lust.

Vain are our fan­cies, ai­ry flights,
If faith be cold and dead;
None but a liv­ing pow­er unites
To Christ the liv­ing Head.

’Tis faith that chang­es all the heart;
’Tis faith that works by love;
That bids all sin­ful joys de­part,
And lifts the thoughts above.

’Tis faith that con­quers earth and hell
By a ce­les­ti­al pow­er;
This is the grace that shall pre­vail
In the de­ci­sive hour.

Faith must ob­ey her Fa­ther’s will,
As well as trust His grace;
A par­don­ing God is jea­lous still
For His own ho­li­ness.

When from the curse He sets us free,
He makes our na­tures clean;
Nor would He send His Son to be
The min­is­ter of sin.

His Spi­rit pu­ri­fies our frame,
And seals our peace with God;
Jesus and His sal­va­tion came
By wa­ter and by blood.