Classic Poem

My Penthouse against the storm of greif

O, how the blasts
Temptation casts
Against my naked ston
Threaten subvertion
Sithence the decree of late was Thine
To take away my sheltring Vine

Well: let them blow
And rain
Their gusts and showers in vain
For sure I am
Thou still uphouldst the frame
Whilst I behould the olive sprouts to grow.

With this assurance; to my hart
I may impart
A Calm of peace
And that these trialls all shall cease
If I ride out them: Fear is good
When it with stands ill, not of ill whistood