Classic Poem

Not from the earth, or skies,
Or seasons as they roll,
Come health and vigor to the frame;
But from the living soul.

Is this alive to God,
And not the slave of sin?
Then will the body, too, receive
Health from the soul within.

But, if disease has touched
The spirit's inmost part;
In vain we seek, from outward things,
To heal the deadly smart.

The mind, the heart unchanged,
Which clouded e'en our home;
Will make the outward world the same,
Where'er our feet may roam.

The fairest scenes on earth,
The mildest, purest sky
Will bring no vigor to the step,
No lustre to the eye.

For He, who formed our frame,
Made man a perfect whole;
And made the body's health depend
Upon the living soul.