Since I do trust Jehova still, Your fearful words why do you spill That like a bird to some strong hill I now should fall a-flying? Behold the evil have bent their bow And set their arrows in a row To give unwares a mortal blow To hearts that hate all lying. But that in building they begun With ground plot's fall shall be undone, For what, alas, have just men done? In them no cause is growing. God in His holy temple is, The throne of heav'n is only His; Naught His all-seeing sight can miss, His eyelids peise our going. The Lord doth search the just man's reins, But hates, abhors the wicked brains; On them storms, brimstone, coals He rains, That is their share assigned. But so of happy other side His lovely face on them doth bide In race of life their feet to guide Who be to God inclined. |