Classic Poem

Preserve me, my undoubted Aid,
To Whom, thou, O my soul, hast said,
Thou art my God; no good in me,
Nor merit can extend to Thee,
But to Thy blessed saints that dwell
On earth, whose Graces most excell,
Those ravish me with pure delight.
Their sorrows shall be infinite,
Who other gods with gifts adore,
Their bloody off'rings I abhor;
Nor shall their names my lips profane,
But God my lot will still maintain;
He is my portion, He bestows
The cup that with His bounty flows.
I have a pleasant seat obtain'd,
A fair and large possession gain'd.
The Lord will I for ever praise,
Whose counsels have inform'd my ways;
And my inflamed zeal excite
To serve Him in the silent night.
He is my object; by His hand
Confirm'd, immoveable I stand.
Joy hath my heart and tongue possess'd;
My flesh in constant hope shall rest.
Thou wilt not leave my soul alone
In hell; nor let Thy Holy One
Corruption see; but that highway
To everlasting life display.
Thy presence yields entire delight,
At Thy right hand joys infinite.