Текст песни

The wicked plot against the saints
And gnash their teeth at them in scorn
But God the Lord, laughs in their face
For God, he sees, his coming morn

The wicked ones, the very same
They draw the sword and bend the bow
To slay the man, whose way is right
And hew the needy, poor, and low

But their own swords, which they have drawn
Will pierceth their own wicked hearts
And bows they bent, will broken be
And come to nothing verily
For better, far, though small may be
The little that the righteous have
Than all the riches of the lost
And all the things, in which they rest

For sinners' arms shall broken be
But God, the LORD, the just sustains
For God, he knows the just man's days
And e'er their heritage remains

In evil times, they won't be shamed
In days of famine, will abound
But all the wicked ones of earth
Will pass away and surely fade

The foolish ones, the foes of God
Are like the glory of the fields
And they, like smoke, fast blown away
Shall soon be gone, and vanish, they