1 Come forth, O thou, whose dread avenging arm
Strikes impious guilt with horror and alarm;
2 Come forth, proclaim thy judgments all aloud,
Thy dire instructions on the haughty proud.
3 How long shall they, who have thy laws abhorr'd,
Boast in their shocking crimes? how long, O Lord?
4 Elated with their guilt, how long look high,
And 'gainst thine honour vent their blasphemy?
5 With dreadful woes thy people they oppress,
They load them with the most severe distress.
6 They the 'lorn widow and the orphan slay,
They wait t' ensnare the trav'ller in his way;
7 And yet they boast, their crimes thou wilt not see.
That right and wrong are all the same to thee,
8 At length, ye listless wretches, ope your eyes,
Ere 'tis too late, learn knowledge, and be wise.
9 Blind does the God, that form'd the eye, appear,
And deaf the sov'reign Lord that fram'd the ear?
10 Who leads his servants in the perfect way,
Shall he not punish them that disobey?
11 Alas! he knows the inmost thoughts of men,
Vain all your hopes, and all your counsels vain.
12 Thrice happy they, who feel the chast'ning God,
Who learn from him, of life, of blifs, the road!
13 In adverse times their fainting souls he'll save;
While drop the wicked in the gaping grave.
14 For he'll not call his heritage away,
Nor leave them to their foes a guardless prey;
15 He'll fix stern justice on her awful seat,
And all his servants to her throne direct.
16 With me against the wicked who will rise?
Who 'gainst oppression kind relief supplies?
17 In the drear tomb I'd long agone been laid,
Had not th' Almighty hasten'd to my aid.
18 Vainly against the danger I had strove,
If not supported by his pow'rful love.
19 'Twas he gave solace in my deep distress,
And calm'd the cares that did my soul depress.
20 "Will heav'n (I said) with vile oppressors join,
"Who 'gainst the guiltless craftily combine;
"Their crimes who cover with a fair pretence,
"And aim to shed the blood of innocence?"
22 But me, O sov'reign ruler, thou'lt defend,
My rock thou art, thy pow'rful aid thou'lt send;
23 By their own arts the wicked thou'lt consume,
Their own base schemes mall bring them to the tomb.