Quit worldly sin and worldly sorrow;
No more 'midst prison walls abide,
But in God’s temple, vast and wide,
Pour praises every eventide,
Ask mercies every morrow!
No seraph’s flaming sword hath driven
That man from Eden or from Heaven—
From earth’s sweet smiles and winning features;
For him by toils and troubles toss’d,
By wealth and wearying cares engross’d,