Classic Poem

Dost thou my worthless name record
Free of thy holy city, Lord?
Am I, a sinner, call'd to share
The precious privileges there?

Art thou, my king my father styl'd?
And I, thy servant and thy child?
While more than half the human race
Are aliens from thy Zion's grace

Lo, wretched millions draw their breath
In lands of ignorance and death
But I enjoy my line of time,
Within thy gospel's favourite clime.

Pardon assur'd and heav'n display'd,
Banish my fears, my hope persuade:
And precepts, plentiful and clear,
Through life my dang'rous voyage steer.

Shall I receive this grace in vain?
Shall I my great vocation stain?
Away, ye works in darkness wrought;
Away, each mean and wanton thought.

My soul, I charge thee to excell
In thinking right and acting well.
Deep, deep, thy searching pow'rs engage,
Unbiass'd, in the heav'n-born page.

Heighten the force of good desire,
To deeds of shining worth aspire:
More firm in fortitude, despise
The world's seducing vanities.

Strong and more strong, thy passions rule;
Advancing still in virtue's school;
Contending still, with noble strife,
To emulate thy Saviour's life.