LORD, what a thoughtless wretch was I,

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 honour shine.

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.

Now let them boast how tall they rise, I'll never envy them again; There they may stand with naughty eyes, Till they plunge deep in endless pain.

Their fancied joys, how fast they flee! Just like a dream when man awakes: Their songs of softest harmony Are but a preface to their plagues.

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.