Why Do The Proud Insult The Poor
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!
They can’t redeem one hour from death
With all the wealth in which they trust;
Nor give a dying brother breath,
When God commands him down to dust.
There the dark earth and dismal shade
Shall clasp their naked bodies round;
That flesh so delicately fed,
Lies cold, and molders in the ground.
Like thoughtless sheep the sinner dies,
And leaves his glories in the tomb;
The saints shall in the morning rise,
And find th’oppressor’s awful doom.
His honours perish in the dust,
And pomp and beauty, birth and blood;
That glorious day exalts the just
To full dominion o’er the proud.
My Saviour shall my life restore
And raise me from my dark abode;
My flesh and soul shall part no more,
But dwell for ever near my God.