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

But oh their end, their dreadful end,
Thy sanctuary taught me so,
On slippery rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below.”

— Isaac Watts, 1719, still relevant 300 years later :/

It’s number 183 in the 1991 Sacred Harp, if you feel like singing it to suitably epic music.