Teach me the prophets smooth to shun
Who wrap their words in soft­est love,
But lead their fond dis­ci­ples down
A spa­cious way to joys ab­ove:
O may I still my sta­tion keep,
Hold fast Thy Word, and cross, and name,
Beware the cloth­ing of the sheep,
Beware the lang­uage of the Lamb!

Whoe’er for sin and Sa­tan plead,
Fruits of the flesh they sure­ly bear,
To Hell, not Heav­en, their doc­trines lead;
And there the spe­cious pro­phets are!
These by the beast­ly mark we know,
The mark Thou hast Thy­self as­signed,
And on we to per­fect­ion go,
And leave the breth­ren false be­hind.