Osborne Wight - The sinner's lips, with curses fraught - текст песни (слова)

The sinner's lips, with curses fraught,
 Words ill according to his thought
 Have utter'd, and beneath his tongue
 Lurk fraud, and violence, and wrong.
 
 Beside the solitary way,
 Intent the helpless poor to stay,
 He waits, and with malignant eye
 Insidious marks each passer by.
 
 As, couch'd within his bushy lair,
 The lion fierce with hideous glare
 Around him casts his wide survey,
 And meditates the future prey,
 
 So longs the man of blood to seize
 The souls that own thy just decrees:
 When, planted with successful care,
 His nets their captive feet insnare,
 
 What, Lord, his fury shall withstand,
 Or save them from the murth'rous band,
 That, leagu'd in sin, assist his toil,
 And share with him the guilty spoil?
 
 "Shall Heav'n's high Lord", he cries, "descend
 The human actions to attend?
 The paths by me at will pursu'd
 His mem'ry and his thought elude."
 
 Rise, mightiest Lord, and lift thy hand,
 Nor let the injur'd poor demand
 Thy saving aid with fruitless pray'r,
 But guard them by thy fost'ring care.
 
 Why should the souls, who thee decry,
 With impious tongues reproachful cry,
 "'Tis not within th'Almighty's plan
 To scrutinize the acts of man?"