Come, child­ren, learn to fear the Lord
And that your days be long,
Let not a false or spite­ful word
Be found up­on your tongue.

Depart from mis­chief, prac­tice love,
Pursue the works of peace;
So shall the Lord your ways ap­prove,
And set your souls at ease.

His eyes awake to guard the just,
His ears at­tend their cry;
When brok­en spir­its dwell in dust,
The God of grace is nigh.

What though the sor­rows here they taste
Are sharp and te­di­ous too,
The Lord, who saves them all at last,
Is their sup­port­er now.

Evil shall smite the wick­ed dead;
But God se­cures His own,
Prevents the mis­chief when they slide,
Or heals the brok­en bone.

When de­so­la­tion, like a flood,
O’er the proud sin­ner rolls,
Saints find a re­fuge in their God,
For He re­deemed their souls.