Classic Poem

Sure there's a righteous God,
Nor is religion vain;
Though men of vice may boast aloud,
And men of grace complain.

I saw the wicked rise,
And felt my heart repine,
While haughty fools with scornful eyes,
In robes of honor shine.

Pamper'd with wanton ease,
Their flesh looks full and fair,
Their wealth rolls in like flowing seas,
And grows without their care.

Free from the plagues and pains,
That pious souls endure,
Through all their life oppression reigns,
And racks the humble poor.

Their impious tongues blaspheme
The everlasting God:
Their malice blasts the good man's name,
And spreads their lies abroad.

But I, with flowing tears,
Indulg'd my doubts to rise;
“Is there a God that sees or hears
The things below the skies?”

The tumults of my thought
Held me in hard suspense,
Till to thy house my feet were brought,
To learn thy justice thence.

Thy word, with light and pow'r,
Did my mistakes amend;
I view'd the sinners' life before,
But here I learn'd their end.

On what a slipp'ry steep
The thoughtless wretches go!
And, Oh! that dreadful fi'ry deep,
That waits their fall below!