Classic Poem

1. Blest is the man whose tender breast, Has for the
2. His heart contrives for their relief, More good than
suffering mourner felt, And while his hand relieves th'oppressed,
thousands could perform, This man in times of general grief,
He feels his soul with pity melt.
Shall find a shelter from the storm.

3. The Lord shall keep his soul alive,
Long shall he live, the blest of earth,
And like a plant celestial thrive,
Amid the pestilence and dearth.

4. When sick, the Lord shall stir his bed,
And make the hard affliction soft,
Shall raise and cheer his drooping head,
Or bear his willing soul aloft.