Classic Poem

Not all that pow'r affords,
Nor mirth that wine inspires,
Nor what sharp avarice hoards,
Or martial toil acquires;
Not conquering arms,
Nor beauty's charms,
Can form the plan
Of bliss for man.

Happy the humble minds ,
In self-opinion poor:
There faith a dwelling finds,
And brings her precious store.
In heav'n enroll'd,
A crown of gold
Around their head
Its blaze shall spread.

Happy, who try'd in woes
Welcome correction's pain;
Whose tears repentance sows,
Rich seed ne'er sown in vain.
A harvest springs
Of joyful things,
Which God will keep
For them to reap.

Happy the meek , whose breast
No angry passion shakes;
Of inward calm possest,
When tempest round them breaks.
The wing of God,
O'er their abode,
Secure repose
And peace bestows.

Happy the souls renew'd,
Who thirst for wisdom's spring,
And hunger for the food
Which virtue's banquets bring.
They now shall taste
The rich repast;
Then bliss intire
Shall fill desire.

Happy the men whose hearts
Relenting mercy sways:
Mercy which God imparts,
The merciful repays:
He hears their cries,
Their wants supplies,
Their pains relieves,
Their sins forgives.

Happy the mind whose eye
No clouds of lust obscure;
Whose pow'rs can upward fly,
From vile affections pure .
Thy ravish'd sight,
In worlds of light,
On God shall gaze,
And drink his blaze.

Happy the foes of broil ,
Who works of peace pursue:
The God of peace with smile
Does his own children view.
Their godlike frame
Deserves the name,
Divinely great
Is their estate.

Happy, thrice happy, ye
Who suffer scorn and shame;
Whose love to truth and me
Endures the test of flame.
To you is giv'n
To sit in heav'n
With me, and share
My glory there.