Classic Poem

Let thy heart no more be troubled,
Child of woe! when sinners rise;
Though their wealth be more than doubled,
View them not with envious eyes;
They shall wither,
As the grass decays and dies.

Trust the Lord, and do his pleasure,
Rest contented with his will;
Make thy God thy richest treasure,
All thy longing heart he'll fill;
On Jehovah
Roll thy cares, and trust him still.

Then will God, thy face adorning,
Crown thy head with heav'nly light,
Softer than the rays of morning, —
Than the noon-day sun more bright;
Be thou tranquil,
He will set thy troubles right.

Though th' oppressor roll in splendor,
And effect his heart's desire,
Let it not thy spirit render
Fretful, sour, or chaf'd with ire;
Be not peevish,
Never let thy patience tire.

Soon his triumph shall be ended,
And in quiet thou shalt dwell;
Though a little while befriended,
Soon the proud shall sink to hell;
But the lowly,
Fill'd with peace, shall prosper well.