Classic Poem

I Envy not the worldly Great,
Their costly viands and their pride of show,
Inchantment all; delusion's bait;
Fools rush along, and plunge in death and woe.

Give me the peasant's clay-built cell,
On a coarse pillow rest my weary head.
If there with me my God will dwell,
With cheerful heart I'll bless my homely bread.

The lofty majesty of God,
Who in eternity of Glory reigns,
In visits to a mean abode,
Descends to commune with adoring swains.

O happy souls, in humble seat!
What transports from divine communion flow!
Angels will you as brethren greet,
And hail the type of their own heav'n below.