8,6,8,6 The rush may rise where waters flow, and flags beside the stream; But soon their verdure fades and dies before the scorching beam So is the sinner's hope cut off; or, if it transient rise, 'Tis like the spider's airy web, from every breath that flies. Fixed on his house he leans; his house and all its props decay: He holds it fast; but, while he holds, the tott'ring frame gives way. Fair in his garden, to the sun his boughs with verdure smile; And, deeply fixed, his spreading roots unshaken stand a while. But forth the sentence flies from Heav'n, that sweeps him from his place; Which then denies him for its lord, nor owns it knew his face. Lo! this the joy of wicked men, who Heav'n's high laws despise: They quickly fall; and in their room as quickly others rise. But, for the just, with gracious care, God will his power employ; He'll teach their lips to sing his praise, and fill their hearts with joy. |