Classic Poem

P ART I.

Great God of Hosts, revenge our wrong
On those who are in mischief strong.
Upon Thy foes
Inflict our woes,
For vengeance doth to Thee belong.
Judge of the world, prevent
The proud and insolent.

How long shall they the just oppress,
And triumph in their wickedness?
How long supplant?
Ah! how long vaunt,
And glory in their dire success?
Thy saints asunder break,
Insulting o'er the weak!

Who strangers and poor widows kill,
The blood of wretched orphans spill,
And say, Can He
Or hear or see?
Doth God regard what's good or ill?
Brute beasts, without a mind!
O fools, in knowledge blind!

Shall not th' Almighty see and hear,
Who form'd the eye, and fram'd the ear?
Who nations slew
Not punish you?
Who taught, not know? to Him appear
Dark counsels, secret fires,
Vain hopes, and vast desires.

P ART II.

But O! thrice blessed he, whom God
Chastiseth with his gentle rod;
Informs, and awes
By sacred laws;
In storms brought to a safe abode;
While the unrighteous shall
By winged vengeance fall.

For He will not forsake th' elect,
Nor who adore His Name reject;
But judgment then
Shall turn again
To justice, and her throne erect.
Who are in heart upright
Shall follow that clear light.

What mortal will th' afflicted aid,
Defend when impious foes invade?
Lord, hadst not Thou,
My soul ere now
In silent shades of death had laid;
For He my out-cries heard,
And from the centre rear'd.

When grief my lab'ring soul confounds,
Thou pourest balm into her wounds.
Shall tyranny
With Thee comply,
Who mischief for a law propounds?
Who swarm to circumvent,
And doom the innocent.

But Thou, O Lord, art my defence,
My refuge, and my recompence.
The vicious shall
By vices fall,
By their own sins be swept from hence.
God shall cut off their breath,
And give them up to death.