Classic Poem

To God, my soul, exalt the strains,
While I these active pow'rs possess;
Yea, while the life is in my veins
I will be bound to bless.

O wait not on a prince's smile,
Nor in a mortal put your trust,
For there's no grace of God in guile,
Nor is there help in dust.

For as the breath and life depart
From man returning to his mould,
Conception fails his head and heart
When once his limbs are cold.

The man is blest who pays his court
To Jacob's God to be supply'd;
And who for his eternal fort
In Jesus shall confide.

The Lord, who fram'd the brilliant spheres,
He roll'd the floods, the land he laid,
And for eternity reveres
The promise that he made.

Which to the souls that suffer wrong
Can their just property secure,
And helps the halt and lame along,
And feeds the hungry poor.

The Lord is present to unbind
The shackl'd prisoners as they pray,
The naked cloaths, and to the blind
Restores the chearful day.

The Lord recovers from the brink
Of hell, and from the tempter's snares,
All such as into danger sink,
And for the righteous cares.

He takes the weary stranger in,
And widows, orphans he defends;
And all the ways of death and sin
He by his truth amends.

The Lord, O Zion, Christ shall lead
Thine armies, and command thy sons,
While age from age and seed from seed
Th' eternal series runs