1 See how the worthless bramble stands
Beneath a burning sky;
Wither'd and parch'd in barren sands,
And only grows to die.

2 Such is the sinner's awful case,
Who makes the world his trust;
And dares his confidence to place
In vanity and dust.

3 A secret curse destroys his root,
And dries his moisture up;
He lives a while, but bears no fruit,
Then dies without a hope.

4 But happy he whose hopes depend
Upon the Lord alone;
The soul that trusts in such a friend
Can ne'er be overthrown.