Classic Poem

Lord thou hast told us that there be
Two dwellings which belong to thee,
And Those two, that's the wonder,
Are far asunder.

The one the highest heaven is,
The mansions of eternal bliss;
The other's the contrite
And humble sprite.

Not like the princes of the earth,
Who think it much below their birth
To come within the door
Of people poor.

No, such is thy humility,
That though thy dwelling be on high,
Thou dost thyself abase
To the lowest place.

Where'er thou seest a sinful soul
Deploring his offences foul,
To him thou wilt descend,
And be his friend.

Thou wilt come in, and with him sup,
And from a low state raise him up,
Till thou hast made him eat
Blest angel's meat.

Thus thou wilt him with honour crown
Who in himself is first cast down,
And humbled for his sins,
That thy love wins.

Though heaven be high, the gate is low,
And he that comes in there must bow:
The lofty looks shall ne'er
Have entrance there.

O God! since thou delight'st to rest
In the humble contrite breast
First make me so to be,
Then dwell with me.