Touch not! Every ill is there, —
Grief, insanity, despair.
In that poisoned coil are rolled
Woes unnumbered and untold.
Yield not to the insidious foe;
Touch not! Let the tempter go.

Taste not! Hear what wisdom saith:
Shouldst thou taint thy pure, sweet breath?
Quench thy young eye's lustrous light
'Neath its baneful, blasting blight?
No, by God's sweet goodness, no!
Taste not! Bid the tempter go.

Handle not! Within its clasp
Lurks the poison of the asp.
At the last 't will bite and sting
Like some vengeful, venomed thing.
Stand, then, bravely in thy lot;
Touch not! Taste not! Handle not!