The Flood

Though small the drops of falling rain,
If one be singly viewed;
Collected, they o'erspread the plain,
And form a mighty flood.

The house it meets with in its course,
Should not he built on clay;
Lest, with a wild resistless force,
It sweep the whole away.

Though for awhile it seemed secure,
It will not bear the shock;
Unless it has foundations sure,
And stands upon a rock.

Thus sinners think their evil deeds,
Like drops of rain, are small;
But it the pow'r of thought exceeds,
To count the sum of all.

One sin can raise, though small it seems,
A flood to drown the soul;
What then, when countless million streams
Shall join, to swell the whole.

Yet, while they think the weather fair,
If warned, they smile or frown;
But they will tremble and despair,
When the fierce flood comes down!

O! then on Jesus ground your hope,
That stone in Zion laid;
Lest your poor building quickly drop,
With ruin, on your head.