Classic Poem

Fair, solitary path! Whose blessed shades
The old, white Prophets planted first and drest:
Leaving for us (whose goodness quickly fades,)
A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest.

Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves
Heav'ns secret solitude, those fair abodes
Where turtles build, and carelesse sparrows move
Without to morrows evils and future loads?

Who hath the upright heart, the single eye,
The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch?
Who sees Invisibles , and doth comply
With hidden treasures that make truly rich?

He that doth seek and love
The things above,
Whose spirit ever poor, is meek and low;
Who simple still and wise,
Still homewards flies,
Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow.

Whose acts, words and pretence
Have all one sense,
One aim and end; who walks not by his sight:
Whose eyes are both put out,
And goes about
Guided by faith, not by exterior light.

Who spills no blood, nor spreds
Thorns in the beds
Of the distrest, hasting their overthrow;
Making the time they had
Bitter and sad
Like Chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow.

Who knows earth nothing hath
Worth love or wrath,
But in his hope and Rock is ever glad.
Who seeks and follows peace,
When with the ease
And health of conscience it is to be had.

Who bears his cross with joy
And doth imploy
His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes;
Who lends, not to be paid,
And gives full aid
Without that bribe which Usurers impose.

Who never looks on man
Fearful and wan,
But firmly trusts in God; the great mans measure
Though high and haughty must
Be ta'en in dust,
But the good man in Gods peculiar treasure.

Who doth thus, and doth not
These good deeds blot
With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath
By secret filth, nor feeds
Some snake, or weeds,
Cheating himself; That man walks in this path.

Prepare my Soul to meet
Thee at thy Table, Lord;
Oh! bring me there,
My darkness clear,
And make me hear thy Word.

Not only it to hear,
But feel that power divine;
Know, for my Guilt
Thy blood was spilt,
Thou'st bought and made me thine.

My Thoughts no longer fly
Abroad, to gather Shells;
All earthly Toys,
Are empty Joys,
My Jesus all excels.

My naked Soul adorn,
Give me a Wedding Dress;
A broken Heart,
The better part,
My Saviour's Righteousness.

Thy Min'sters with Salvation cloathe,
Each Gift for thee employ;
Thy People to Praise,
With heavenly lays,
Thy Saints to shout for Joy.