Classic Poem

1.

Blest be the Lord my strength, whose aids,
When lawless force my peace invades,
My fingers for their task prepare,
And discipline my hands to War:

2.

My hope, my shield, my strongest tow'r,
The Friend that in the dang'rous hour
My life protects, and bids each land
Subjected own my just command.

3.

Lord, what is Man, that in thy care
His humble lot should find a share?
Or what the Son of Man, that T HOU
Thus to his wants thine ear shouldst bow?

4.

What are his days? (a span their line;)
Or what his age compar'd with thine?
Himself, when in the balance weigh'd,
A Nothing, and his Life a shade.

5.

Descend, from Heav'n's vast height descend:
Its wide-spread arch beneath thee bend:
Touch the proud hills, eternal Sire;
And see them quick in smoke aspire!

6.

Let fiercest lightnings through the air
Now rushing now reverting tear
Thy stubborn foes; and, edg'd with flame,
Swift at their heads thy arrows aim.

7.

Stretch to my aid thine arm, and save
My life from the devouring wave;
Back let the vengeful foe retire,
Whose lips, whose hands, in fraud conspire.

8.

So shall my finger's artful stroke
The harp and tenstring'd lute provoke
New strains t' attempt, and with my tongue
In sweet division form the song.

9.

Guardian of Kings! thy fav'ring might
Thy David through the thickest sight
With watchful care vouchsafes to guide,
And turns each threat'ning sword aside.

10.

Stretch to my Aid thine arm, and save
My life from the devouring wave;
Back let the vengeful foe retire,
Whose lips, whose hands, in fraud conspire.

11.

So, nurs'd beneath indulgent skies,
Our Sons with full increase shall rise,
Like youngling plants in order rang'd,
Of healthful stem, and leaf unchang'd —

12.

Our Daughters as the column fair,
That, fashion'd by the Artist's care,
Claims in the regal Dome a place,
The polish'd angle's noblest grace.

13.

So shall the hind exulting bear
The blessings of the loaded year,
And the rich harvest's gather'd store
Load with its heap th' extended floor,

14.

Our Oxen strong for toil behold!
The teeming Mothers of the fold
See, scatter'd o'er the rural scene,
Their thousands and their myriads yean.

15.

No more our Streets the cries of fear
Or shouts of violence shall hear:
Thou, Lord, the tumults shalt assuage
Of hostile force, and civil rage.

16.

O happy We, while thus our Race
The signals of thy Love shall grace!
O blest the People, that in Thee
Their God and faithful Guardian see!