Classic Poem

Psal — I. Buchan[ani] Paraphra[sis]

Happy is He whom from the right wayes Lawe
The wicked Multitude could nere withdrawe
Nor led by error would He lend an Ear
To Scoffers, or Partake of their Curst Chaire
But dilligently searching how to find
The means to better Life, revolves in Mind
The Lawes of God which He alone doth prize
And makes them's Nightly and Dayly exercise
He shall be like a Tree that's planted by
The Rivers Brink which lets it not stand drie
But Heat-and-Could-free Prodigally bringes
The Hind reward in frute and Blossomings
Nor doth it feed the Masters empty pride
With Flattering Hopes alone whilst 'tis not dride.
It's otherwayes with those not understand
The Holy Covenant and Divine Command.
Bring Heav'n into Contempt: Like Dust such are
A whirlwind strait Careers into the Ayre:
Wherfore when as the Righteous Judg shall come
I'th'Clowds to Sentence every one their doome,
Ungodlines retire with sad lookes must
Nor once presume t'appeer amongst the just
Whose Fraud-free-Paths our Heavnly Father knowes
And markes whilst wickednes He overthrowes