Classic Poem

Part I.

W E nothing can of merit claim;
Not for our sakes Thy aid afford,
But for the honour of Thy Name,
Thy mercy, and unfailing word.
Why should th' insulting heathen cry,
Where's now the God they vainly praise?
Our Lord, enthron'd above the sky,
All underneath at pleasure sways.
Their gods but gold and silver be,
Made by a frail artificer;
For they have eyes that cannot see,
Dumb mouths, and ears that cannot hear.
Fools on their altars incense throw,
Who nothing smell; their feet are bound,
Nor have they pow'r to move or go;
Their throats give passage to no sound.
Their hands can neither give nor take,
Unapt to punish or defend;
As senseless they who idols make,
Or to their carved statues bend.

Part II.

Your hopes on God, O Israel, place,
He is your Help and strong Defence;
Be He, you priests of Aaron's race,
The object of your confidence.
In Him, all you that fear Him, trust,
He shall protect you in distress;
The Lord is of His promise just,
And will His faithful servants bless.
The house of chosen Israel,
And Aaron's holy family,
The poor, and who in pow'r excell,
That love, and on His aid rely,
They shall a mighty people grow,
Their children happy from their birth.
He will increase of gifts bestow,
Whose Hand created heav'n and earth.
He in the heav'n of heav'ns resides,
And over all His creatures reigns,
Among the sons of men divides
The earth, and all the earth contains.
Who sleep within the vaults of death
No off'rings to His altars bring;
O praise His Name, while we have breath,
And loudly Hallelujah sing.