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The man, in life where-ever plac'd, Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor learns their guilty lore! Nor from the seat of scornful Pride Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humility and awe Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the trees Which by the streamlets grow; The fruitful top is spread on high, And firm the root below. But he whose blossom buds in guilt Shall to the ground be cast, And like the rootless stubble tost, Before the sweeping blast. For why? That God the good adore Hath giv'n them peace and rest, But hath decreed that wicked men Shall ne'er be truly blest.
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