Classic Poem

KING OF KINGS .

Thou King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
I owe myself and all I have to Thee,
My Muse no tribute now affords,
But what first comes from Thine own treasurie,
A leafe of praise
Is all that I can raise.

And yet that leafe is taken from
Thy tree of grace Thou graftedst in my heart,
Accept it then, since it doth come
From that stock which to me Thou didst impart;
It is Thine own,
To all the world be't known.

I do confesse the ground in which
'Tis set, if poor, and long hath barren been,
For how alas! could it be rich,
When nought but thorns and thistles grew therein?
O let Thy grace
Above my sins take place,

And in my heart the upper hand
Let it still have, a happy victorie,
That I Thy champion may stand
Undaunted 'gainst all that opposeth Thee:
So whiles I live,
I shall Thee praises give.

Or if whiles in this vale I stay,
To praise Thee will be too hard a thing,
Then to Thy holy hil convey
My soul, where I may hallelujahs sing
In a higher
And better-tuned quire.