The Trust of the Wicked and the Righteous Compared

I

As parched in the barren sands,
  Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with’ring stands,
  And only grows to die;

II

Such is the sinner’s awful case,
  Who makes the world his trust,
And dares his confidence to place
  In vanity and dust.

III

A secret curse destroys his root,
  And dries his moisture up;
He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,
  Then dies without a hope.

IV

But happy he whose hopes depend
  Upon the Lord alone;
The soul that trusts in such a Friend
  Can ne’er be overthrown.

V

Though gourds should wither, cisterns break.
  And creature-comforts die,
No change his solid hope can shake,
  Or stop his sure supply.

VI

So thrives and blooms the tree whose roots
  By constant streams are fed;
Array’d in green, and rich in fruits,
  It rears its branching head.

VII

It thrives though rain should be denied,
  And drought around prevail;
’Tis planted by a river side
  Whose waters cannot fail.