The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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True Wisdom.
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
True Wisdom.
I
Pronounce him blest, my muse, whom wisdom guidesIn her own path to her own heav'nly seat;
Thro' all the storms his soul securely glides,
Nor can the tempests, nor the tides,
That rise and roar around, supplant his steady feet.
II
Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly,And seek, in vain, a passage to his breast,
Spread all your painted toys to court his eye,
He smiles, and sees them vainly try
To lure his soul aside from her eternal rest.
III
Our headstrong lusts, like a young fiery horse,Start, and flee raging in a violent course;
He tames and breaks them, manages and rides 'em,
Checks their career, and turns and guides 'em,
And bids his reason bridle their licentious force.
IV
Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts,And boldly acts what calmly he design'd,
Whilst he looks down and pities human faults;
Nor can he think, nor can he find
A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind.
V
But oh! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height,To vanquish self is a laborious art;
What manly courage to sustain the fight,
To bear the noble pain, and part
With those dear charming tempters rooted in the heart!
VI
'Tis hard to stand when all the passions move,Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds
To rend and tear out this unhappy love,
That clings so close about our minds,
And where th'enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds.
VII
Hard; but it may be done. Come heav'nly fire,Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray
Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear
Awhile to be a tenant here,
But not be chain'd and prison'd in a cage of clay.
VIII
Heav'n is my home and I must use my wings;Sublime above the globe my flight aspires:
I have a soul was made to pity kings,
And all their little glitt'ring things;
I have a soul was made for infinite desires.
IX
Loos'd from the earth, my heart is upward flown;Farewell, my friends, and all that once was mine:
Now, should you fix my feet on Cæsar's throne,
Crown me, and call the world my own,
The gold that binds my brows could ne'er my soul confine.
X
I am the Lord's, and Jesus is my love;He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire.
My flesh below; yet I can dwell above,
And nearer to my Saviour move;
There all my soul shall centre, all my pow'rs conspire.
XI
Thus I with angels live; thus half-divineI sit on high, nor mind inferior joys:
Fill'd with his love, I feel that God is mine,
His glory is my great design,
That everlasting project all my thoughts employs.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |