Where, in the intoxicating draught concealed,
Or couched beneath the glance of lawless love,
He snares the simple youth, who, nought suspecting,
Meant to be blest—but finds himself undone.
Bishop Porteus.
Beset with snares on every hand,
In life’s uncertain path I stand;
Saviour divine! diffuse Thy light
To guide my doubtful footsteps right.
Doddridge.