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S. M.

The mystery of providence unfolded.


Sure there's a righteous God,

Nor is religion vain;

Though men of vice may boast aloud,

And men of grace complain.

I saw the wicked rise,

And felt my heart repine,

While haughty fools with scornful eyes

In robes of honor shine.

[Pampered with wanton ease,

Their flesh looks full and fair;

Their wealth rolls in like flowing seas,

And grows without their care.

Free from the plagues and pains

That pious souls endure;

Through all their life oppression reigns,

And racks the humble poor.

Their impious tongues blaspheme

The everlasting God;

Their malice blasts the good man's name,

And spreads their lies abroad.

But I with flowing tears

Indulged my doubts to rise;

"Is there a God that sees or hears

The things below the skies?"]

The tumults of my thought

Held me in hard suspense,

Till to thy house my feet were brought,

To learn thy justice thence.

Thy word with light and power

Did my mistake amend;

I viewed the sinners' life before,

But here I learnt their end.

On what a slipp'ry steep

The thoughtless wretches go;

And O that dreadful fiery deep

That waits their fall below!

Lord, at thy feet I bow,

My thoughts no more repine;

I call my God my portion now,

And all my powers are thine.

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