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.