Now I’m con­vinced the Lord is kind
To men of heart sin­cere;
Yet once my fool­ish thoughts re­pined,
And bor­dered on des­pair.

I grieved to see the wick­ed thrive,
And spoke with an­gry breath,
“How plea­sant and pro­fane they live!
How peace­ful is their death!

“With well-fed flesh and haugh­ty eyes,
They lay their fears to sleep;
Against the heav’ns their slan­ders rise,
While saints in si­lence weep.

In vain I lift my hands to pray,
And cleanse my heart in vain;
For I am chasten­ed all the day,
The night re­news my pain.

Yet while my tongue in­dulged com­plaints,
I felt my heart re­prove;
Sure I shall thus of­fend thy saints,
And grieve the men I love.

But still I found my doubts too hard,
The con­flict too se­vere,
Till I re­tired to search Thy Word,
And learn Thy sec­rets there.

There, as in some pro­phet­ic glass,
I saw the sin­ner’s feet
High mount­ed on a slip­pery place,
Beside a fie­ry pit.

I heard the wretch pro­fane­ly boast,
Till at Thy frown he fell;
His hon­ors in a dream were lost,
And he awakes in hell.

Lord, what an en­vi­ous fool I was!
How like a thought­less beast!
Thus to sus­pect Thy pro­mised grace,
And think the wick­ed blest.

Thus I was kept from full des­pair,
Upheld by pow­er un­known;
That bless­èd hand that broke the snare
Shall guide me to Thy throne.