Isaac Watts · 36 of 724

The Psalms of David · Psalm 17

Arise, my gracious God, And make the wicked flee; They are but thy chastising rod, To drive thy saints to thee.

Behold, the sinner dies, His haughty words are vain; Here in this life his pleasure lies, And all beyond is pain.

Then let his pride advance, And boast of all his store; The Lord is my inheritance, My soul can wish no more.

I shall behold the face Of my forgiving God; And stand complete in righteousness, Washed in my Savior's blood.

There's a new heav'n begun, When I awake from death, Dressed in the likeness of thy Son, And draw immortal breath.