Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
Who leans on him for might.
He turns away from God the Lord;
His heart rejects what’s right.
He’s like a bush out in the waste;
Good times will pass him by.
His place is parched and desolate,
With none to hear his cry.

But blessed the man who trusts the Lord;
God is his hope and stay.
He’s like a tree beside a stream;
Its roots drink deep each day.
It never fears in summertime;
Its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a drought;
Its fruit is always seen.

Lord, may I never in mankind
Place confidence or hope.
A fruitless, barren state that brings,
With none to help me cope.
But may I always trust in You;
Your Word will quench my thirst.
You’ll give me strength for every trial;
I’ll always put You first.