Classic Poem

The round and many-peopled earth,
What from her womb extract their birth,
And whom her foodful breast sustains,
Are His, Who high in glory reigns,
The land in moving seas hath plac'd,
By ever-toiling floods embrac'd.
Who shall upon His mountain rest?
Who in His sanctuary feast?
Ev'n he whose hands are innocent;
His heart unsoil'd with foul intent;
Whom swoln ambition, avarice,
Nor tempting pleasures can entice;
Who only their infection fears;
And never fraudulently swears,
The Lord his Saviour him shall bless,
And clothe him with His righteousness.
Such are of Jacob's faithful race,
Who seek Him, and shall find His Face.
You lofty gates, your leaves display;
You everlasting doors, give way;
The King of Glory comes. O sing
His praise! Who is this glorious King?
The Lord in strength, in pow'r complete,
The Lord in battle more than great.
You lofty gates, your leaves display;
You everlasting doors, give way;
The King of Glory comes. O sing
His praise! Who is this glorious King?
The Lord of Hosts, of victory,
Is King of Glory; thron'd on high.