Classic Poem

To tell the world my proper name,
Is both my glory and my shame:
For like my black, but comely face,
My name is Sin, my name is Grace.

Most fitly I'm assimilate
To various things inanimate;
A standing lake, a running flood,
A fixed star, a passing cloud.

A cake unturn'd, nor cold, nor hot;
A vessel sound, a broken pot:
A rising sun, a drooping wing;
A flinty rock, a flowing spring,

A rotten beam, a virid stem;
A menstrous cloth, a royal gem;
A garden barr'd, an open field;
A gilding stream, a fountain seal'd.

I'm with'ring grass, and growing corn;
A pleasant plant, an irksome thorn;
An empty vine, a fruitful tree;
An humble shrub, a cedar high.

A noxious brier, a harmless pine;
A sapless twig, a bleeding vine:
A stable fir, a plaint bush;
A noble oak, a naughty rush.

With sensitives I may compare,
While I their various nature share;
Their distinct names may justly suit
A strange, a reasonable brute.

The sacred page my state describes,
From volatile and reptile tribes;
From ugly vipers, beauteous birds;
From soaring hosts, and swinish herds.

I'm rank'd with beasts of different kinds,
With spiteful tygers, loving hinds;
And creatures of distinguish'd forms,
With mounting eagles, creeping worms.

A mixture of each sort I am;
A hurtful snake, a harmless lamb;
A tardy ass, a speedy roe;
A lion bold, a tim'rous doe.

A slothful owl, a busy ant;
A dove to mourn, a lark to chant:
And with less equals to compare,
An ugly toad, an angel fair.