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1 Lord, what a thoughtless Wretch was I,
To mourn and murmur, and repine
To see the Wicked plac'd on high,
In Pride and Robes of Honour shine!
2 But, O their End, their dreadful End!
Thy Sanctuary taught me so;
O slipp'ry Rocks I see them stand,
And fi'ry Billows roll below.
3 Now let 'em boast how tall they rise,
I'll never envy them again;
There they may stand with haughty Eyes,
Till they plunge deep in endless Pain.
4 Their fancy'd Joys, how fast they flee!
Just like a Dream when Man awakes;
Their Songs of softest Harmony
Are but a Preface to their Plagues.
5 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.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Lord, what a thoughtless Wretch was I |
Meter: | Long Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1740 |
Scripture: | ; ; ; |
Topic: | Prosperity dangerous; Providence: its mystery unfolded |