O migh­ty man, why wilt thou boast
Thyself in hate­ful cru­el­ty,
When God Al­migh­ty is most kind,
And ev­er mer­ci­ful is He?

Thy tongue de­vis­eth wick­ed­ness,
A wea­pon trea­che­rous and keen;
Thou lov­est ev­il more than good,
And false­hood in thy sight is clean.

Since, O thou false, de­ceit­ful tongue,
In dead­ly words thou find­est joy,
The Lord shall pluck thee from thy place
And all thy wick­ed­ness de­stroy.

The good, con­firmed in god­ly fear,
The pride and fol­ly shall con­fess
Of those who make not God their strength,
But trust in wealth and wick­ed­ness.

But as for me, my strength is like
A ver­dant tem­ple ol­ive tree;
My trust is in God’s ten­der love,
Which shall en­dure eter­nal­ly.

With end­less thanks, O Lord, to Thee,
Thy won­drous works I will pro­claim,
And in the pre­sence of Thy saints
Will ev­er hope in Thy good name.