183 GREENWICH - traditional

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Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I,
To mourn, and murmur and repine;
To see the wicked placed on high,
In pride and robes of honor shine.

(fugue)
But oh, their end, their dreadful end,
Thy sanctuary taught me so,
On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below.