Would sink in darker depths of hopeless woe.
Say ye that earth's 'prosperity' rewards
The righteous man? Why do the wicked live,
Grow old, and magnify themselves in power?
Their offspring flourish round them, their abodes
Are safe from fear. Their cattle multiply
And widely o'er the hills and pastures green
Wander their healthful herds. Forth like a flock
They send their little ones, with dance and song,
Tabret and harp. They spend their days in wealth