Classic Poem

From earth, O mortal, to the heav'ns,
Lift thy admiring eyes;
Behold the bright celestial orbs,
And view the distant skies.

They're high, yet does Jehovah's throne
Their tow'ring height exceed;
Far more than that bright starry frame,
Is rais'd above thy head.

Hence never can this glorious One,
Who sits in heav'n sublime,
Be hurt or damag'd by thy sin,
Nor by the blackest crime.

His plenitude of bliss can ne'er
Be made a whit the less,
Should'st thou, by multiply'd affronts,
Grow bold in wickedness.

Nor can his happy being e'er
The least advantage reap,
Should'st thou devoutly him revere,
And all his precepts keep.

Yet hence let not thy wicked heart,
This false conclusion draw,
That thou wouldst act a fruitless part,
Shouldst thou obey his law.

Thy goodness gainful not above,
But to the earth may be;
Thy wickedness may hurtful prove,
Though not to God, to thee.