I grieved to see the wicked thrive,And spoke with angry breath,"How pleasant and profane they live !How peaceful is their death !
"With well-fed flesh and haughty eyes,They lay their fears to sleep;Against the heav'ns their slanders rise,While saints in silence weep.
"In vain I lift my hands to pray,And cleanse my heart in vain;For I am chastened all the day,The night renews my pain."
Yet while my tongue indulged complaints,I felt my heart reprove,"Sure I shall thus offend thy saints,And grieve the men I love."
But still I found my doubts too hard,The conflict too severe,Till I retired to search thy word,And learn thy secrets there.
There, as in some prophetic glass,I saw the sinner's feetHigh mounted on a slipp'ry place,Beside a fiery pit.
I heard the wretch profanely boast,Till at thy frown he fell;His honors in a dream were lost,And he awakes in hell.
Lord, what an envious fool I was!How like a thoughtless beastThus to suspect thy promised grace,And think the wicked blessed.
Yet I was kept from full despair,Upheld by power unknown;That blessed hand that broke the snareShall guide me to thy throne.
God, my supporter and my hope,My help for ever near,Thine arm of mercy held me up,When sinking in despair.
Thy counsels, Lord, shall guide my feetThrough this dark wilderness;Thine hand conduct me near thy seat,To dwell before thy face.
Were I in heav'n without my God,'twould be no joy to me;And whilst this earth is my abode,I long for none but thee.
What if the springs of life were broke,And flesh and heart should faint?God is my soul's eternal rock,The strength of ev'ry saint.
Behold, the sinners that removeFar from thy presence die;Not all the idol gods they loveCan save them when they cry.
But to draw near to thee, my God,Shall be my sweet employ;My tongue shall sound thy works abroad,And tell the world my joy.
Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I,To mourn, and murmur, and repine,To see the wicked placed on high,In pride and robes of' honour shine!
But O their end, their dreadful end!Thy sanctuary taught me so;On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand,And fiery billows roll below.
Now let them boast how tall they rise,I'll never envy them again;There they may stand with haughty eyes,Till they plunge deep in endless pain.
Their fancied joys, how fast they flee!Just like a dream when man awakes;Their songs of softest harmonyAre but a preface to their plagues.
Now I esteem their mirth and wineToo dear to purchase with my blood;Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine,My life, my portion, and my God.
Sure there's a righteous God,Nor is religion vain;Though men of vice may boast aloud,And men of grace complain.
I saw the wicked rise,And felt my heart repine,While haughty fools with scornful eyesIn robes of' honor shine.
Pampered with wanton ease,Their flesh looks full and fair;Their wealth rolls in like flowing seas,And grows without their care.
Free from the plagues and painsThat pious souls endure;Through all their life oppression reigns,And racks the humble poor.
Their impious tongues blasphemeThe everlasting God;Their malice blasts the good man's name,And spreads their lies abroad.
But I with flowing tearsIndulged my doubts to rise;"Is there a God that sees or hearsThe things below the skies?"
The tumults of my thoughtHeld me in hard suspense,Till to thy house my feet were brought,To learn thy justice thence.
Thy word with light and powerDid my mistake amend;I viewed the sinners' life before,But here I learned their end.
On what a slippery steepThe thoughtless wretches go;And O that dreadful fiery deepThat waits their fall below!
Lord, at thy feet I bow,My thoughts no more repine;I call my God my portion now,And all my powers are thine.
About the author
About the poet
Isaac Watts (17 July 1674 – 25 November 1748) was an English hymnwriter, theologian and logician. A prolific and popular hymnwriter, he was recognised as the "Father of English Hymnody", credited with some 650 hymns. Many of his hymns remain in use today, and have been translated into many languages.
Born in Southampton, England, in 1674, Watts was brought up in the home of a committed religious Nonconformist — his father, also Isaac Watts, had been incarcerated twice for his controversial views. At King Edward VI School (where one of the houses is now named "Watts" in his honour), Watts learned Latin, Greek and Hebrew. From an early age, Watts displayed a propensity for rhyme.
Watts, unable to go to either Oxford or Cambridge on account of his non-conformity, went to the Dissenting Academy at Stoke Newington in 1690, and much of his life centred around that village, which is now part of Inner London.
His education led him to the pastorate of a large independent chapel in London, where he found himself in the position of helping trainee preachers, despite his poor health. Taking work as a private tutor, Watts lived with the Nonconformist Hartopp family at Fleetwood House, on Church Street in Stoke Newington, and later in the household of their immediate neighbours Sir Thomas Abney and Lady Mary. Though a Nonconformist, Sir Thomas practised occasional conformity to the Church of England, as necessitated by his being Lord Mayor of London between 1700 and 1701. Likewise, Isaac Watts held religious opinions that were more non-denominational or ecumenical than was at that time common for a Nonconformist; he had a greater interest in promoting education and scholarship than preaching for any particular ministry.
On the death of Sir Thomas Abney, Watts moved permanently with his widow and her remaining unmarried daughter, Elizabeth, to Abney House in Stoke Newington, a property that Mary had inherited from her brother. He lived there from 1748 to his death. The grounds at Abney Park led down to an island heronry in the Hackney Brook, where he sought inspiration for the many books and hymns he wrote.
Watts died in Stoke Newington in 1748, and was buried in Bunhill Fields, having left an extensive legacy of hymns, treatises, educational works and essays. His work was influential amongst Nonconformist independents and early religious revivalists, such as Philip Doddridge, who dedicated his best known work to Watts. On his death, Isaac Watts' papers were given to Yale University in then-colonial Connecticut.