Classic Poem

Of breaking woes a num'rous train
Invade my frighted soul,
As crowding billows of the main
Do o'er each other roll.

What war does the Almighty wage
With such a feeble flea,
That like a giant in his rage,
He fiercely runs on me?

Sackloth I wear upon my skin,
Of ornaments despoil'd;
And dabbl'd in the dust unclean,
My glory lies defil'd.

My cheeks with constant weeping fade,
Stain'd with a briny bath;
And on mine eye-lids hangs the shade
Of gloomy dismal death.