Classic Poem

Adversity! the Great must bend to thee,
From thy domain, no sovereign pow'r is free;
Thou source of earthly terrors! awful fear!
Who rul'st with iron rod, and brow severe:
All feel the weight of thy oppressive hand,
And none can check thee, or thy pow'r withstand.
Thy harsh decrees are med'cines to the Soul,
Which can the most obdurate heart controll;
Tho' painful, yet subdue malignant pride.
And by their aid our minds are purified.
Thy waters like the salutary Nile,
By overflowing, fructify the soil;
Grant that to me the deluge may impart,
Its fruitful gifts to rectify my heart.
Oh! may my mind th' ordeal fire sustain,
Endure the torments, and e'en smile on pain:
Great is the conflict, yet the conquest sure.
If arm'd with fortitude, and Virtue pure.