Classic Poem

Welcome, whate'er my tender flesh may say,
Welcome affliction, to my reason, still;
Though hard, and rugged on that rock I lay
A sure foundation, which if raised with skill,
Shall compass Babel's aim, and reach th' Almighty's hill.

Welcome the rod, that does adoption show,
The cup, whose wholesome dregs are given me here;
There is a day behind, if God be true,
When all these clouds shall pass, and heaven be clear,
When those whom most they shade, shall shine most glorious there.

Affliction is the line, which every saint
Is measured by, his stature taken right;
So much it shrinks, as they repine or faint,
But if their faith and courage stand upright,
By that is made the crown, and the full robe of light.