Classic Poem

Et Exaltavit Humiles.

How cheerefully th' unpartiall Sunne
 Gilds with his beames
 The narrow streames
Oth' Brooke which silently doth runne
 Without a name?
And yet disdaines to lend his flame
To the wide channell of the Thames?

The largest mountaines barren lye
 And lightning feare,
 Though they appeare
To bid defiance to the skie;
 Which in one houre
W' have seene the opening earth devoure
When in their height they proudest were.

But th' humble man heaves up his head
 Like some rich vale
 Whose fruites nere faile
With flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.
 Nor doth complaine
Oreflowed by an ill season'd raine
Or batter'd by a storme of haile.

Like a tall Barke with treasure fraught
 He the seas cleere
 Doth quiet steere:
But when they are t' a tempest wrought;
 More gallantly
He spreads his saile, and doth more high
By swelling of the waves, appeare.

For the Almighty joyes to force
 The glorious tide
 Of humane pride
To th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course
 (Which rudely bore
Downe what oppos'd it heretofore)
His feeblest enemie may stride.

But from his ill-thatcht roofe he brings
 The Cottager
 And doth preferre
Him to th' adored state of Kings:
 He bids that hand
Which labour hath made rough and tand
The all commanding Scepter beare.

Let then the mighty cease to boast
 Their boundlesse sway:
 Since in their Sea
Few sayle, but by some storme are lost.
 Let them themselves
Beware for they are their owne shelves.
Man still himselfe hath cast away.

Et Exaltavit Humiles.

How cheerefully th' unpartiall Sunne
 Gilds with his beames
 The narrow streames
Oth' Brooke which silently doth runne
 Without a name?
And yet disdaines to lend his flame
To the wide channell of the Thames?

The largest mountaines barren lye
 And lightning feare,
 Though they appeare
To bid defiance to the skie;
 Which in one houre
W' have seene the opening earth devoure
When in their height they proudest were.

But th' humble man heaves up his head
 Like some rich vale
 Whose fruites nere faile
With flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.
 Nor doth complaine
Oreflowed by an ill season'd raine
Or batter'd by a storme of haile.

Like a tall Barke with treasure fraught
 He the seas cleere
 Doth quiet steere:
But when they are t' a tempest wrought;
 More gallantly
He spreads his saile, and doth more high
By swelling of the waves, appeare.

For the Almighty joyes to force
 The glorious tide
 Of humane pride
To th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course
 (Which rudely bore
Downe what oppos'd it heretofore)
His feeblest enemie may stride.

But from his ill-thatcht roofe he brings
 The Cottager
 And doth preferre
Him to th' adored state of Kings:
 He bids that hand
Which labour hath made rough and tand
The all commanding Scepter beare.

Let then the mighty cease to boast
 Their boundlesse sway:
 Since in their Sea
Few sayle, but by some storme are lost.
 Let them themselves
Beware for they are their owne shelves.
Man still himselfe hath cast away.