1 In vain, O man of lawless might,

thou boast'st thyself in ill;

Since God, the God in Whom I trust,

vouchsafes his favor still.

2 Thy wicked tongue doth sland'rous tales

maliciously devise;

And, sharper than a razor set,

it wounds with treach'rous lies.

3,4 Thy thoughts are more on ill than good,

on lies than truth employed;

Thy tongue delights in words, by which

the guiltless axe destroyed.

5 God shall for ever blast thy hopes,

and snatch thee soon away;

Nor in thy dwelling-place permit,

nor in the world to stay.

6 The just, with pious fear, shall see

the downfall of thy pride;

And at thy sudden ruin laugh,

and thus thy fall deride:

7 "See there the man that haughty was,

who proudly God defied,

"Who trusted in his wealth, and still

on wicked arts relied."

8 But I am like those olive plants

that shade God's temple round;

And hope with his indulgent grace

to be for ever crowned.

9 So shall my soul with praise, O God,

extol thy wondrous love;

And on thy Name with patience wait;

for this thy saints approve.