Classic Poem

High as the heav'ns above the ground,
Reigns the Creator, God;
Wide as the whole creation's bound,
Extends his awful rod.

Let princes of exalted state
To him ascribe their crown;
Render their homage at his feet,
And cast their glories down.

Know that his kingdom is supreme,
Your lofty thoughts are vain;
He calls you gods—that awful name,—
But ye must die like men.

Then let the sov'reigns of the globe
Not dare to vex the just;
He puts on vengeance like a robe,
And treads the worms to dust.

Ye judges of the earth! be wise,
And think of heav'n with fear;
The meanest saint, whom you despise,
Has an Avenger there.