Lord, if Thou dost not soon ap­pear,
Virtue and truth will fly away;
A faith­ful man amongst us here
Will scarce be found, if Thou de­lay.

The whole dis­course when neigh­bors meet
Is filled with trifles, loose and vain;
Their lips are flat­tery and de­ceit,
And their proud lang­uage is pro­fane.

But lips that with de­ceit abound
Shall not main­tain their tri­umph long;
The God of ven­geance will con­found
The flat­ter­ing and blas­phem­ing tongue.

Yet shall our words be free, they cry;
Our tongues shall be con­trolled by none:
Where is the Lord will ask us why?
Or say our lips are not our own?

The Lord, who sees the poor op­pressed,
And hears th’op­press­or’s haugh­ty strain,
Will rise to give His child­ren rest,
Nor shall they trust His Word in vain.

Thy Word, O Lord, though oft­en tried,
Void of de­ceit shall still ap­pear;
Not sil­ver se­ven times pu­ri­fied,
From dross and mix­ture shines so clear.

Thy grace shall in the dark­est hour
Defend the ho­ly soul from harm;
Though when the vil­est men have pow­er,
On ev­ery side will sin­ners swarm.