Psalm I. - Poem by Henry King
The man is blest whose feet not tread,
By wicked counsailes led:
Nor stands in that perverted way,
In which the Sinners stray;
Nor joynes himselfe unto the chaire,
Where Scorners seated are;
But in God's Law both dayes and nights
To meditate delights.
He shall be like a Planted Tree
We neere the Rivers see:
Whose branches by their moisture spring,
And fruits in season bring.
No parching droughts his leaf invade,
Or make his blossome fade.
For God will his indeavours blesse
With prosperous successe.
But wicked men themselves shall find
Like chaff blow'n by the wind.
Nor in the finall Judgment must
Stand up among the Just.
For God the righteous guides, and knowes
The path wherein he goes:
When wayes of Sinners perish shall
In their eternall fall.
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