1.

Why, Tyrant, boasts thy heart the pow'r
To work a Brother's woe;
While God his mercy bids each hour
In streams unmeasur'd flow?

2.

With joy thy tongue, to falsehood prone,
Its venom deals around;
Nor razor sharpen'd on the stone
Inflicts so deep a wound.

3.

Thy lips far readier Ill than Good
And Lies than Truth have sought;
Nor e'er has word that aim'd at blood
Unwelcom'd met thy thought.

4.

But God, whose wrath thy crimes inflame,
Shall pluck thee from thy home,
Root from the land of life thy name,
And seal thy changeless doom.

5.

The Just, with thankful awe possess'd,
Shall view thy blasted pride,
And, from their fiercest foe releas'd,
Thy impious boasts deride.

6.

" Lo there the wretch in trespass bold,
" Who God's support disdain'd,
" And on his heaps of treasur'd gold
" His frantic hope sustain'd. "

7.

Fresh as the verdant olive, I
Within thy Courts shall stand,
And, fix'd, indulgent Lord, rely
On thy protecting hand.

8.

Thy Acts my praise shall ever claim,
Thy Name, amidst my woes,
(How grateful to thy Saints that Name!)
My ev'ry fear compose.