Classic Poem

Part I.

W ITHDRAW not, O my God, my Guide:
In time of trouble dost Thou hide
Thy cheerful Face?
Who want Thy grace,
The poor pursue with cruel pride:
O be they by their own
Inventions overthrown.

The wicked boast of their success;
The covetous profanely bless,
By Thee, O Lord,
So much abhorr'd.
Their pride will not Thy pow'r confess
Nor have Thy favour sought,
Or had of Thee a thought.

They in oppression take delight;
Thy judgments far above their sight:
Their enemies
Scoff and despise,
Who say in heart, No opposite
Can us remove, nor shall
Our greatness ever fall.

Their mouths detested curses fill,
Fraud, mischief; ever prone to ill:
In secret they
Lurk to betray;
The innocent in corners kill:
His eyes with fierce intent
Upon the poor are bent.

Part II.

He like a lion in his den,
Awaits to catch oppressed men,
Who unaware
Light in his snare.
His couched limbs contracts, that then
With all his strength he may
Rush on his wretched prey.

His heart hath said, God hath forgot;
He hides His face, He minds it not.
Arise, O Lord,
Draw Thy just sword,
Nor out of Thy remembrance blot
The poor and desolate:
O shield them from his hate!

Why should the wicked God despise,
And say He looks with careless eyes?
Their well seen spite
Thou shalt requite.
The poor, O Lord, on Thee relies;
Thou help'st the fatherless,
Whom cruel men oppress.

Asunder break the arms of those,
Who ill affect, and good oppose:
Their crimes explore,
Until no more
Lurk in their bosoms to disclose.
Eternal King, Thy Hand
Hath chas'd them from Thy land.

Lord, Thou hast heard Thy servants' pray'r;
Thou wilt their humble hearts prepare:
Thy gracious Ear
Inclin'd to hear.
The fatherless, and worn with care
Judge Thou; that mortals may
No more with outrage sway.