While men grow bold in wick­ed ways,
And yet a God they own,
My heart with­in me oft­en says,
Their thoughts be­lieve there’s none.

Their thoughts and ways at once de­clare,
Whate’er their lips pro­fess,
God hath no wrath for them to fear,
Nor will they seek His grace.

What strange self-flat­te­ry blinds their eyes!
But there’s a hast­en­ing hour,
When they shall see with sore sur­prise
The ter­rors of Thy pow­er.

Thy jus­tice shall main­tain its throne,
Though mount­ains melt away;
Thy judg­ments are a world un­known,
A deep, un­fa­thomed sea.

Above the heav’ns’ cre­at­ed rounds,
Thy mer­cies, Lord, ex­tend;
Thy truth out­lives the nar­row bounds
Where time and na­ture end.

Safety to man Thy good­ness brings,
Nor ov­er­looks the beast;
Beneath the sha­dow of Thy wings
Thy child­ren choose to rest.

From Thee, when crea­ture-streams run low.
And mor­tal com­forts die,
Perpetual springs of life shall flow,
And raise our plea­sures high.

Though all cre­at­ed light de­cay,
And death close up our eyes,
Thy pre­sence makes eter­nal day,
Where clouds can ne­ver rise.