Classic Poem

Forbid it Heaven! the noble mind shou'd sink
In death's dark valley, or on danger's brink!
But where's the noble mind?—In wisdom's eyes.
'Tis that which shews its lineage from the skies.
'Tis this in sorrow; poverty, distress,
Confers a dignity no mind can guess.
With meekness—patience—misery may it dwell;
Enrich the cottage and adorn the cell;
As something great in monarchs must remain
The child and shackled with a dungeon's chain;
Pursued by tyrant power, oppress'd, forlorn,
By cruel injuries or “more cruel scorn.”
What can support the martyr or the saint
To bear his piercing woes without complaint?
What but that faith which all things can controul
Which brings a suff'ring Saviour to his soul?
Through him who conquer'd, conquest shall he win,
And where the world for sakes, his hopes begin.