Classic Poem

If genuine merit claim the Muses song,
To thee our tributary strains belong;
Born with a heart that joy'd to soothe distress,
Restrain the oppressor, and the poor to bless,
Prompt to defend the helpless orphans cause,
A steady guardian of the nations laws—
While sage religion, source of bliss below,
With sacred fervour caus'd thy breast to glow,
Pointed to scenes of happiness on high,
And taught thee how to live and how to die.