My God, the steps of pi­ous men
Are or­dered by Thy will;
Though they should fall, they rise again,
Thy hand sup­ports them still.

The Lord de­lights to see their ways,
Their vir­tue He ap­proves;
He’ll ne’er de­prive them of His grace,
Nor leave the men He loves.

The heav’n­ly he­ri­tage is theirs,
Their por­tion and their home;
He feeds them now, and makes them heirs
Of bless­ings long to come.

Wait on the Lord, ye sons of men,
Nor fear when ty­rants frown;
Ye shall con­fess their pride was vain,
When jus­tice casts them down.

The haugh­ty sin­ner have I seen,
Nor fear­ing man, nor God,
Like a tall bay-tree, fair and green,
Spreading his arms abroad.

And lo! he van­ished from the ground,
Destroyed by hands un­seen;
Nor root, nor branch, nor leaf was found
Where all that pride had been.

But mark the man of right­eous­ness,
His se­ve­ral steps at­tend;
True plea­sure runs through all his ways,
And peace­ful is his end.