Locusts and Wild Honey

That man is blessed 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 inexhausted treasury,
And with successive honors crowned.

His lib’ral favors he extends,
To some he gives, to others lends;
A gen’rous 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 bestow’d,
His glory’s future harvest sow’d;
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 threat’ning dangers round,
Unmov’d shall he maintain his ground;
His conscience holds his courage up:
The soul that’s fill’d 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 fix’d 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 drown’d.

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

- Isaac Watts, 1719