The wicked plot against the saints And gnash their teeth at them in scorn But God the Lord, laughs in their face For God, he sees, his coming morn The wicked ones, the very same They draw the sword and bend the bow To slay the man, whose way is right And hew the needy, poor, and low But their own swords, which they have drawn Will pierceth their own wicked hearts And bows they bent, will broken be And come to nothing verily For better, far, though small may be The little that the righteous have Than all the riches of the lost And all the things, in which they rest For sinners' arms shall broken be But God, the LORD, the just sustains For God, he knows the just man's days And e'er their heritage remains In evil times, they won't be shamed In days of famine, will abound But all the wicked ones of earth Will pass away and surely fade The foolish ones, the foes of God Are like the glory of the fields And they, like smoke, fast blown away Shall soon be gone, and vanish, they