Classic Poem

I seem to see the heavenly Book
Ten thousand roots send down,
As though from out its native soil
To vindicate its own;
To rock and water, wood and earth,
The unerring fibers haste,
And draw such princely wisdom forth
As vivifies the waste.

The Book itself grows wiser, hence,
Its Lamp beams forth anew;
The S PIRIT'S best deliverance
More plainly comes to view.
If H E , our Wisest , deigned to use
Such objects for our good,
Oh, let us not their teachings lose,
So plainly understood.