That man is blest who stands in awe
Of God, and loves His sac­red law:
His seed on earth shall be re­nowned;
His house the seat of wealth shall be,
An un­ex­haust­ed trea­su­ry,
And with suc­cess­ive hon­ors crowned.

His li­ber­al fa­vors he ex­tends,
To some he gives, to oth­ers lends;
A ge­ne­rous pi­ty fills his mind:
Yet what his cha­ri­ty im­pairs,
He saves by pru­dence in af­fairs
And thus he’s just to all man­kind.

His hands, while they his alms be­stowed,
His glo­ry’s fu­ture har­vest sowed;
The sweet re­mem­brance of the just,
Like a green root, re­vives and bears
A train of bless­ings for his heirs,
When dy­ing na­ture sleeps in dust.

Beset with threat­en­ing dan­gers round,
Unmoved shall he main­tain his ground;
His con­science holds his cour­age up:
The soul that’s filled with vir­tue’s light,
Shines bright­est in af­flict­ion’s night,
And sees in dark­ness beams of hope.

Ill tid­ings ne­ver can sur­prise
His heart that fixed on God re­lies,
Though waves and tem­pests roar around:
Safe on the rock he sits, and sees
The ship­wreck of his en­emies,
And all their hope and glo­ry drowned.

The wick­ed shall his tri­umph see,
And gnash their teeth in ago­ny,
To find their ex­pec­ta­tions crossed;
They and their en­vy, pride, and spite,
Sink down to ev­er­last­ing night,
And all their names in dark­ness lost.