Oft do we see the wicked safe,
And unmolested dwell;
Oft do they flow in pleasure soft,
And in their wealth excel.

In merriment and carnal ease
They spend each happy day;
Healthful in riot, and in age
Appear without decay.

The regal throne of pomp and pride
In triumph they ascend;
Repeat their conquests, and abroad
Their growing pow'r extend.

Vig'rous, though far advanced in years,
Before their eyes they see
What elevates their pride, a fair
And num'rous progeny.

Their houses safe from fears and foes,
In peace they live secure;
Nor God's vindictive heavy blows
Do ever they endure.

Their prosp'rous cattle, thick and throng,
Engender on the hill;
And, with their num'rous wanton young,
Their flocks the valley fill.

Their merry little ones, in trains,
Do from their house advance;
Sport in the streets, and o'er the plains
And verdant meadows dance.

They take the harp, and in the round,
Upon the timbrel play;
And, at the organ's cheerful sound,
Rejoice and pass the day.

Pamper'd in ease, and mirth, and wealth,
They spend their golden hours;
Consume their time, abuse their health,
And waste their vital pow'rs.

By years, and not by sickness, they
At last their shoulders bend;
And, ripe in years, anon decay,
And to the grave descend.

Hence, puff'd up with prodigious pride,
Religion they condemn:
God's threats and precepts they deride,
And saints, as fools, contemn.

They bid th' Almighty God depart,
And arrogantly say,
We don't desire or have at heart,
The knowledge of thy way.

What's the Almighty? where's our fee?
Should we to serve him deign?
Some pray and praise, but don't we see
They spend their breath in vain?

Thus wicked men, whom Heav'n does load
With earthly happiness,
Their native spite against their God
Profanely do express.