Classic Poem

The Lord sits sovereign o'er the world,
And midst the gods he reigns;
Why from your seats will ye be hurl'd,
Who load th' oppress'd with chains?

Hear ye the poor and needy cry,
The orphan's wrongs redress;
Regard the friendless widow's sigh,
And brutal lust repress.

They will not hear, nor understand,
In madness on they go;
See how the pillars of the land
Are tott'ring to and fro!

Though lords ye're call'd, and sons of God,
Ye all like men shall die;
Low in the dust, beneath the sod,
Your haughty heads must lie.

Lift up thyself, O God! arise,
Make bare thy mighty arm;
Thou God of earth, and seas, and skies!
Preserve th' oppress'd from harm.