Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Why do the proud insult the poor,|
And boast the large estates they have?
How vain are riches to secure
Their haughty owners from the grave!
2. They can't redeem one hour from death,
3. There the dark earth and dismal shade
4. Like thoughtless sheep the sinner dies,|
Laid in the grave for worms to eat:
The saints shall in the morning rise,
And find th' oppressor at their feet.
5. His honors perish in the dust,
6. My Savior shall my life restore,
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