Sure there’s a right­eous God,
Nor is re­li­gion vain;
Though men of vice may boast aloud,
And men of grace com­plain.

I saw the wick­ed rise,
And felt my heart re­pine,
While haugh­ty fools with scorn­ful eyes
In robes of hon­or shine.

Pampered with wan­ton ease,
Their flesh looks full and fair;
Their wealth rolls in like flow­ing seas,
And grows with­out their care.

Free from the plagues and pains
That pi­ous souls en­dure;
Through all their life op­press­ion reigns,
And racks the hum­ble poor.

Their im­pi­ous tongues blas­pheme
The ev­er­last­ing God;
Their ma­lice blasts the good man’s name,
And spreads their lies abroad.

But I with flow­ing tears
Indulged my doubts to rise;
Is there a God that sees or hears
The things be­low the skies?

The tu­mults of my thought
Held me in hard su­spense,
Till to Thy house my feet were brought,
To learn Thy jus­tice thence.

Thy Word with light and pow­er
Did my mis­takes amend;
I viewed the sin­ner’s life be­fore,
But here I learnt their end.

On what slip­pe­ry steep
The thought­less wretch­es go!
And O that dread­ful fie­ry deep
That waits their fall be­low.

Lord, at Thy feet I bow,
My thoughts no more re­pine;
I call my God my por­tion now,
And all my pow­ers are Thine.