Classic Poem

My Thoughts turn on that Park so Green,
Where I have seen the Deer;
And on the right, I think, there runs
A River that is clear.

Upon it's Stream Corn Mills are built,
That make the Millers glad;
But if it e're should stop its course,
The Poor might then be sad.

For why? the Millers, we do know,
So fast they could not grind;
Would not the Poor be wanting Bread,
Where could they Flour find?

But I read of a Gospel Stream,
That gently once did flow,
A Fountain now it is become,
It's depths we do not know.

If ever this should stop it's course,
How some must hang their Head!
Most Christians then would mournful grow,
Yea, pray and beg for Bread.

My Thoughts turn'd on that Building now,
It's very large I find;
The Owner has a vast Estate,
But sure a narrow Mind.

He has a Son that is in want,
To France he fled away;
His Father is a Miser, sure,
His Debts he will not pay.

How much this Father unlike him,
Who did embrace his Son,
Altho' he wasted had his wealth,
And saw he was undone?

But this is worthy of a God
Unto his Children dear;
Happy for me, he is not like
Unto this Father here.

For I too ruin'd was by Sin,
And nothing had to pay;
But he who brought me to his House
Invites me there to stay.

Yea, he has clad me all in White,
With Rings adorn'd my Hand;
This is the Robe the Saviour gave,
It is in him I stand.