Classic Poem

Most just is God; yet none can tell
The fix'd determin'd times,
When those that wickedly rebel
Shall suffer for their crimes.

Some men so void of shame are found,
Who do, with treach'rous bands,
Remove the settled marks that bound
Appropriated lands.

With wicked spoils, or goods they seize,
Their luxury they feast;
And fill'd with rapine, do at ease
Upon their couches rest.

Thus thrive oppressors, tyrants, thieves,
Men bloody and unclean;
Whose villanies day-light aggrieves,
The dark's their darling screen.

Pamper'd in plenty they abide,
And long on earth they live:
While for impunity their pride
In plunder they derive.

All things to raise their happiness,
Seem jointly to comply;
And as they liv'd in outward peace,
They unmolested die.

Gently cut down like ears of corn,
Their death's a kind decay:
Full ripe they to the tomb are borne,
And slowly sink away.

Their streams of life a goodly while,
Like peaceful rivers flow;
And when they die ('tis common stile)
They gently melt like snow.

'Tis true, Jehovah sees and knows
Their vice and insolence;
Yet, seeming unconcern'd, he does
No vengeance due dispense.

If they're, a feast of worms, inferr'd,
Man's common fate is so:
Heav'n then hath all their hell deferr'd
To future endless wo.