Fast mine integrity,—nor justify 

 The slanderous charges of a secret guilt 

 Ye bring against me. 

 For what is the gain 

 Of the base hypocrite when God shall take 

 Away his perjured soul? Yourselves have seen 

 How often in this life the wicked taste 

 Of retribution. The oppressor bears 

 Sway for a while,—but look!—the downfall comes. 

 His offspring shall not flourish, nor his grave 

 Be wet with widow's tears. 

 The unjust rich man 

 Heapeth up silver for a stranger's hand, 

 He hoardeth raiment with a miser's greed 

 To robe he knows not who, though he himself 

 Had grudg'd to wear it. Boastfully he builds 

 A costly mansion to preserve his name 

 Among the people. But like the slight booth, 

 Brief lodge of summer, shall it pass away. 

 Terrors without a cause, disable him 

 Prev. P 54/285 next