The Folly of Self-Dependence

Verse 1

Why should the haughty hero boast His vengeful arm, his warlike host? While blood defiles his cruel hand, And desolation wastes the land.

Verse 2

He joys to hear the captive's cry, The widow's groan, the orphan's sigh; And when the weary'd sword would spare, His falsehood spreads the fatal snare.

Verse 3

He triumphs in the deeds of wrong, And arms with rage his impious tongue; With pride proclaims his dreadful pow'r, And b ids the trembling world adore.

Verse 4

But God beholds, and with a frown, Casts to the dust his honours down; The righteous freed, their hopes recal, And hail the proud oppressor's fall.

Verse 5

How low the insulting tyrant lies, Who dar'd th' eternal Pow'r despise; And vainly deem'd with envious joy, His arm Almighty to destroy.

Verse 6

We praise the Lord, who heard our cries, And sent salvation from the skies; The saints, who saw our mournful days, Shall join our grateful songs of praise.