1 How should the sons of Adam's race
Be pure before their God?
If he contend in righteousness
We fall beneath his rod.

2 To vindicate my words and thoughts
I'll make no more pretence;
Not one of all my thousand faults
Can bear a just defence.

3 Strong is his arm, his heart is wise;
What vain presumers dare
Against their Maker's hand to rise,
Or tempt th' unequal war?

4 [Mountains by his almighty wrath
From their old seats are torn;
He shakes the earth from south to north,
And all her pillars mourn.

5 He bids the sun forbear to rise,
Th' obedient sun forbears:
His hand with sackcloth spreads the skies,
And seals up all the stars.

6 He walks upon the stormy sea
Flies on the stormy wind;
There's none can trace his wondrous way,
Or his dark footsteps find.]