Lord, What a Thoughtless Wretch Was I

Lord

what a thought­less wretch was I

To mourn

and mur­mur

and re­pine

To see the wick­ed placed on high

In pride and robes of hon­or shine!

But O their end

their dread­ful end!

Thy sanc­tu­ary taught me so;

On slip­pe­ry rocks I see them stand

And fie­ry bil­lows roll be­low.

Now let them boast how tall they rise

I’ll nev­er en­vy them again;

There they may stand with haugh­ty eyes

Till they plunge deep in end­less pain.

Their fan­cied joys

how fast they flee!

Just like a dream when man awakes;

Their songs of soft­est har­mo­ny

Are but a pre­face to their plagues.

Now I es­teem their mirth and wine

Too dear to pur­chase with my blood;

Lord

’tis enough that Thou art mine

My life

my por­tion

and my God.