Classic Poem

God is in very truth benign
 To Jacob, and his seed,
To such as heartily decline
 From filth in word and deed.

And yet my feet had well nigh lost
 The conduct of their guide,
And my firm treadings, to my cost,
 Were on the point to slide

For wherefore? I was griev'd to see
 Ungodly men so great,
And wealth and pow'r to that degree
 On Satan's servants wait.

For they themselves of age assure,
 As though excus'd to die,
And lustily they live secure,
 And Christ in strength deny.

The tides of trouble, that confound
 Their betters, they can stem;
And crosses, which their neighbours wound,
 Are far enough from them.

Hence pride has bound their stiffen'd neck
 As with a gorgeous chain,
And as in robes themselves they deck
 In wrath and high disdain.

Their wanton eyes with fatness swell,
 As in themselves they trust,
And in proud palaces they dwell,
 To do whate'er they lust.

Their commerce is contagious too,
 As loudly they blaspheme;
Their conversation they renew,
 Against the great Supreme .

For with their clamour they invade,
 Where heav'n its vault sublimes,
And their untoward talk is made
 The fashion of the times.

Therefore to them the people crave
 For profit and for ease;
And from each voluntary slave
 No trivial tax they squeeze.

Shall God (the scorners say) perceive,
 Who dwells in heavens unknown,
And what we dare and disbelieve,
 Be laid before his throne?

Lo! these are what religion brands,
 Yet make the world their mart,
If so, in vain I've wash'd my hands,
 I cry'd, and purg'd my heart.

I have been mortify'd all day,
 And griev'd such men were born,
And chasten'd with the rising ray
 For many an irksome morn:

Yea, I had almost join'd the fools—
 But then I shou'd have blam'd
The wholesome discipline, which schools
 Thy sons that are reclaim'd.

Then labour'd I to comprehend
 This mystery of thine,
But could not its immediate end
 With all my skill divine.

Until I went into thy fane
 To recommend my plea,
And there thou mad'st it very plain
 Why these events should be.

To wit, how all their pride they prop
 Upon a tott'ring base,
Whence at thy bidding down they drop,
 And sink into disgrace.

How instantaneous one and all
 Are blasted and consume,
And perish at thy wrath, and fall
 Upon a dreadful doom.

Like as a dream, when men awake,
 And from their fright are freed;
So from the city shalt thou make
 Their image to recede.

Thus in my heart was discontent,
 And gall within me flow'd,
And thro' my loins vexation went,
 And in my reins abode.

So foolish in my vain dispute
 Was I before my God,
And void of wisdom as the brute,
 By which the corn is trod.

And yet I keep within thy courts
 One constant strain of pray'r,
And my right hand thy pow'r supports,
 While I thy surplice wear.

My road thy counsel shall direct,
 And thro' all straits convoy,
And thou shalt welcome thine elect
 To glory and to joy.

Whom have I in the heav'ns above
 Like thee my hope to raise,
Nor is there ought on earth I love,
 In measure as thy praise?

My spirits have forsook my heart,
 My vigour fails my flesh;
But God, in whom I have a part,
 Shall with new strength refresh.

For they that from thy banner run,
 Shall find an hasty grave,
Nor ought but thine all-righteous Son
 Can such adult'rers save.

But it is good for me to hold
 My service and my song,
And God—the works of God unfold,
 Where Zion's daughters throng.