Tho’ wick­ed men grow rich or great,
Yet let not their suc­cess­ful state
Thy an­ger, or thy en­vy, raise;
For they, cut down, like ten­der grass,
Or like young flow­ers, away shall pass,
Whose bloom­ing beauty soon de­cays.

Depend on God, and Him ob­ey;
So thou with­in the land shalt stay,
Secure from dan­ger, and from want;
Make His com­mands thy chief de­light;
And He, thy duty to re­quite,
Shall all thy ear­nest wish­es grant.

In all thy ways trust thou the Lord,
And He will need­ful help af­ford,
To per­fect ev­ery just de­sign;
He’ll make, like light, se­rene and clear,
Thy cloud­ed in­no­cence ap­pear,
And as a mid-day sun to shine.

With qui­et mind on God de­pend,
And pa­tient­ly for Him at­tend;
Nor let thy an­ger fond­ly rise,
Tho’ wick­ed men with wealth abound,
And with suc­cess the plots are crowned,
Which they ma­li­cious­ly de­vise.

From an­ger cease, and wrath for­sake;
Let no un­gov­erned pass­ion make
Thy wa­ver­ing heart es­pouse their crime:
For God shall sin­ful men de­stroy;
Whilst on­ly they the land en­joy,
Who trust on Him, and wait His time.

How soon shall wick­ed men de­cay!
Their place shall van­ish quite away,
Nor by the strict­est search be found;
Whilst hum­ble souls pos­sess the earth,
Rejoicing still with god­ly mirth,
With peace and plen­ty al­ways crowned.

While sin­ful crowds, with false de­sign,
Against the right­eous few com­bine,
And gnash their teeth, and threat­en­ing stand;
God shall their emp­ty plots de­ride,
And laugh at their de­feat­ed pride:
He sees their ru­in near at hand.

They draw the sword, and bend the bow,
The poor and needy to o’er­throw,
And men of up­right lives to slay:
But their strong bows shall soon be broke
Their sharp­ened wea­pon’s mor­tal stroke
Thro’ their own hearts shall force its way.

A lit­tle, with God’s fa­vor blest,
That’s by one right­eous men pos­sessed,
The wealth of ma­ny bad ex­cels:
For God sup­ports the just man’s cause;
But, as for those that break His laws,
Their un­suc­cess­ful pow­er He quells.

His con­stant care the up­right guides,
And ov­er all their life pre­sides;
Their por­tion shall for ev­er last:
They, when dis­tress o’er­whelms the earth,
Shall be un­moved, and e’en in dearth
The hap­py fruits of plen­ty taste.

Not so the wick­ed men, and those
Who proud­ly dare God’s will op­pose:
Destruction is their hap­less share:
Like fat of lambs, their hopes, and they,
Shall in an in­stant melt away,
And van­ish in­to smoke and air.

While sin­ners, brought to sad de­cay,
Still bor­row on, and ne­ver pay,
The just have will and pow­er to give;
For such as God vouch­safes to bless,
Shall peace­ably the earth pos­sess;
And those He curs­es, shall not live.

The good man’s way is God’s de­light;
He or­ders all the steps aright,
Of him that moves by His com­mand;
Though he some­times may be dis­tressed;
Yet shall he ne’er be quite op­pressed;
For God up­holds him with His hand.

From my first youth, till age pre­vailed,
I ne­ver saw the right­eous failed,
Or want o’er­take his nu­mer­ous race,
Because com­pass­ion filled his heart,
And he did cheer­fully im­part,
God made his off­spring’s wealth in­crease.

With cau­tion shun each wick­ed deed,
In vir­tue’s ways with zeal pro­ceed,
And so pro­long your hap­py days:
For God, who judg­ment loves, does still
Preserve His saints se­cure from ill,
While soon the wick­ed race de­cays.

The up­right shall pos­sess the land:
His por­tion shall for ag­es stand;
His mouth with wis­dom is sup­plied;
His tongue by rules of judg­ment moves;
His heart the law of God ap­proves;
Therefore his foot­steps ne­ver slide.

In wait the watch­ful sin­ner lies,
In vain the right­eous to sur­prise;
In vain, his ru­in does de­cree:
God will not him defense­less leave,
To His re­venge ex­posed, but save,
And, when he’s sen­tenced, set him free.

Wait still on God; keep His com­mands;
And thou, ex­alt­ed in the land,
Thy blest pos­sess­ion ne’er shalt quit:
The wick­ed soon de­stroyed shall be,
And at his dis­mal tra­ge­dy
Thou shalt a safe spec­ta­tor sit.

The wick­ed I in pow­er have seen,
And, like a bay-tree, fresh and green,
That spreads its plea­sant branch­es round;
But he was gone as swift as thought;
And tho’ in ev­ery place I sought,
No sign or track of him I found.

Observe the per­fect man with care,
And mark all such as up­right are;
Their rough­est days in peace shall end:
While on the lat­ter end of those,
Who dare God’s sac­red will op­pose.
A com­mon ruin shall at­tend.

God to the just will aid af­ford;
Their on­ly safe­guard is the Lord;
Their strength, in time of need, is He:
Because on Him they still de­pend,
The Lord will time­ly suc­cor send,
And from the wick­ed set them free.