The Prosperity of Sinners Cursed

Verse 1

Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I, To mourn, and murmur, and repine To see the wicked placed on high, In pride and robes of honor shine!

Verse 2

But, oh, their end, their dreadful end! Thy sanctuary taught me so; On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand, And fiery billows roll below.

Verse 3

Their fancied joys, how fast they flee! Like dreams, as fleeting and as vain, Their songs of softest harmony Are but a prelude to their pain.

Verse 4

Now I esteem their mirth and wine Too dear to purchase with my blood; Lord, ’tis enough that Thou art mine, My life, my portion and my God.