Beware the sweet,
sweet praise of man

  The sinful soul enjoys the rush
That comes with drinking earthly praise
Like wine that rushes to the brain
It will cloud with pride our gaze

 And Satan gladly fills our cup
And bids us drink our fill
And even squeeze for us the grape
That at last our soul shall kill

 For soon the addict begs for more
And be sure he will gladly sell
Himself and everything he has
To have more this drink from hell

 The Praise of man so quickly turns
As Pontius Pilate also learned
The very thing the people praised
Too soon they cursed and spurned

  How better far is Christ the Vine
Who gave for us His blood to save
The better wine is kept for last
For our heart He His Spirit gave