1 Broad is the road that leads to death,
And thousands walk together there;
But wisdom shews a narrower path,
With here and there a traveller.
2 |Deny thyself, and take thy cross,|
Is the Redeemer's great command;
Nature must count her gold but dross
If she would gain this heavenly land.
3 The fearful soul that tires and faints,
And walks the ways of God no more,
Is but esteem'd almost a saint,
And makes his own destruction sure.
4 Lord, let not all my hopes be vain;
Create my heart entirely new,
Which hypocrites could ne'er attain,
Which false apostates never knew.