1 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!
2 But, oh, their end, their dreadful end!
Thy sanctuary taught me so;
On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below.
3 Their fancied joys, how fast they flee!
Like dreams, as fleeting and as vain,
Their songs of softest harmony
Are but a prelude to their pain.
4 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.
Source: Book of Worship (Rev. ed.) #92