The blessed man is he who shuns the road,
Where sinners love to go and mockers meet,
The seat where scoffers sit, in glass abodes,
No longer walking down those darkened streets.
But in the hallowed ground which God has plowed,
And sowed the seed of His Word in the rows,
The Holy Germ sprouts up with leafy boughs,
And yields its pure, sweet fruit and upward grows.
The wicked though, does not resemble he,
But rather, like the chaff is blown away,
And is discarded like so much debris,
For nothing holds him firmly to the way,
Stay therefore, planted by the stream of God,
And he’ll uphold you ever ‘pon His Sod.