Classic Poem

Though ease and plenty, fruits of wealth,
And all the means of life and health,
And sweet convenience, please us;
In poverty, which most we dread,
Without a house above my head,
Or feathers to make soft my bed,
My soul could rest in Jesus.

When he came down from heav'n to earth,
The manger was his place of birth,
A chamber was denied him;
And when, to do his Father's will,
With loving kindness, pow'r, and skill,
He went about, quite lowly still,
The women's hands supplied him.

Thy then should I, who taste his grace,
And hope in heaven to see his face,
Be careful for the present?
We soon shall have enough at home,
In him who now affords me some;
When death, to move my goods, shall come,
My house will then be pleasant.

The King himself I shall behold,
Aray'd in robes of purest gold,
In his hope my spirit raises;
Angels and saints, for company,
In that blest mansion I shall see;
Nor will they be asham'd of me
And aid them in his praises!