Classic Poem

The Lord in heav'n has fix'd his throne,
His eye surveys the world below;
To him all mortal things are known,
His eye-lids search our spirits through.

If he afflict his saints so far,
To prove their love, and try their grace;
What must the bold transgressors fear?
His very soul abhors their ways.

On impious wretches he shall rain
Tempests of brimstone, fire and death,
Such as he kindled on the plain
Of Sodom, with his angry breath.

The righteous Lord loves righteous souls,
Whose thoughts and actions are sincere,
And with a gracious eye beholds
The men who his own image bear.