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Trust Of The Wicked And The Righteous Compared

As parched in the barren

Beneath a burning sky,

The worthless bramble with'ring stands,

And only grows to die.

Such is the sinner's aweful case,

Who makes the world his trust;

And dares his confidence to

In vanity and dust.

A secret curse destroys his root,

And dries his moisture up;

He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,

Then dies without a hope.

But happy he whose hopes

Upon the Lord alone;

The soul that trusts in such a friend,

Can ne'er be overthrown.

Though gourds should wither, cisterns break,

And creature-comforts die;

No change his solid hope can shake,

Or stop his sure supply.

So thrives and blooms the tree whose

By constant streams are fed;

Arrayed in green, and rich in fruits,

It rears its branching head. It thrives, though rain should be denied,

And drought around prevail;'Tis planted by a river's

Whose waters cannot fail.

Olney Hymn

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John Newton

John Newton (4 August [O.S. 24 July] 1725 – 21 December 1807) was an English Anglican clergyman and abolitionist, also having been Captain of sl…
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