God Gives His Mercies To Be Spent

God gives His mercies to be spent;

Your hoard will do your soul no good.

Gold is a blessing only lent,

Repaid by giving others food.

The world's esteem is but a bribe,

To buy their peace you sell your own;

The slave of a vainglorious tribe,

Who hate you while they make you known.

The joy that vain amusements give,

O! sad conclusion that it brings!

The honey of a crowded hive,

Defended by a thousand stings.

'Tis thus the world rewards the fools

That live upon her treacherous smiles:

She leads them, blindfold, by her rules,

And ruins all whom she beguiles.

God knows the thousands who go down

From pleasure into endless woe;

And with a long despairing groan

Blaspheme their Maker as they go.

Oh fearful thought! be timely wise;

Delight but in a Savior's charms,

And God shall take you to the skies,

Embraced in everlasting arms.