Sin, when viewed by scripture light,Is a horrid, hateful sight;But when seen in Satan’s glass,Then it wears a pleasing face.
When the gospel trumpet sounds,When I think how grace abounds,When I feel sweet peace within,Then I’d rather die than sin.
When the cross I view by faith,Sin is madness, poison, death;Tempt me not, ’tis all in vain,Sure I ne’er can yield again.
Satan, for awhile debarred,When he finds me off my guard,Puts his glass before my eyes,Quickly other thoughts arise.
What before excited fears,Rather pleasing now appears;If a sin, it seems so small,Or, perhaps, no sin at all.
Often thus, through sin’s deceit,Grief, and shame, and loss I meet,Like a fish, my soul mistook,Saw the bait, but not the hook.
O my Lord, what shall I say?How can I presume to pray?Not a word have I to plead,Sins, like mine, are black indeed!
Made, by past experience, wise,Let me learn thy word to prize;Taught by what I’ve felt before,Let me Satan’s glass abhor.