1 The wicked fools must sure suppose

that God is but a name;

This gross mistake their practice shows,

since virtue all disclaim:

2 The Lord looked down from heav'n's high tow'r,

the sons of men to view;

To see if any owned his pow'r,

or truth; or justice knew.

3 But all, he saw, were backwards gone,

degen'rate grown, and base;

None for religion cared, not one

of all the sinful race.

4 But are those workers of deceit

so dull and senseless grown,

That they, like bread, my people eat,

and God's just pow'r disown?

5 Their causeless fears shall strangely grow,

and they, despised of God,

Shall soon be foiled; his hand shall throw

their shattered bones abroad.

6 Would he his saving pow'r employ

to break our servile band,

Loud shouts of universal joy

should echo through the land.