Classic Poem

If thou who feels the hand of God,
His justice wouldst adore:
And, timely humbled by the rod,
His mercy wouldst implore:

If, to thy pray'r, heart-pureness cleave,
His favour would thee raise;
Thy prosp'rous state he would retrieve,
And crown thy righteous ways.

Though thy beginning, small and low,
Seem but an abject state:
Thy latter end shall not be so,
But have an increase great.