Classic Poem

Lo! happy is the man whom God,
In kindness, doth correct;
Then do not thou his chastening rod,
Contemptuously neglect.

His skill binds up what he made sore,
By his incision knife;
He wounds and heals, and does restore,
From gates of death to life.

From numerous troubles, various woes,
He'll save and set thee free;
And order to a joyful close,
This scene of misery.

Thy life he'll guard with tender care,
When famine threatens death;
And from the raging sword thee spare,
When war breaks out in wrath.

The pois'nous darts thrown at thy name,
From the invective tongue,
Shall neither wound thy stablish'd fame,
Nor do thy honour wrong.

God's hiding hand, when men dispraise,
The sland'ring tongue shall curb;
Reproaches thy repute shall raise,
Nor once thy peace disturb.

When grim destruction, with her drove
Of woes, shall shake her spear,
Her threats tremendous shall but move
Thy laughter, not thy fear.

All nature reconcil'd displays
Its care to give thee ease,
When, thro' his grace, thy righteous ways
The God of nature please.

With thee shall stones, that load the field,
Make league, thy part to take;
And savage beasts, thy life to shield,
A firm alliance make.

The fire, the air, the earth, the seas,
Each element with thee,
A lasting covenant of peace
Shall strictly ratify.

Thy habitation thou shalt know,
In quietness possess'd:
Thou shalt offenceless come and go,
And find thy mansion bless'd.

Thy offspring and posterity
Shall num'rous be and great;
Their increase like the grass shall be,
With beauteous flow'rs beset.

Thou in full age, ripe for the urn,
On death shall cheerful look,
As when a full-grown shock of corn
Invites the welcome hook.

Weigh these undoubted truths sedate,
And therein thou shalt find,
A spring of consolation great,
To thy afflicted mind.