How Should the Sons of Adam’s Race

How should the sons of Ad­am’s race

Be pure be­fore their God?

If He con­tend in right­eous­ness

We fall be­neath His rod.

To vin­di­cate my words and thoughts

I’ll make no more pre­tense;

Not one of all my thou­sand faults

Can bear a just de­fense.

Strong is His arm

His heart is wise;

What vain per­fum­ers dare

Against their mak­er’s hand to rise

Or tempt th’un­eq­ual war?

Mountains by His al­migh­ty wrath

From their old seats are torn;

He shakes the earth

from south to north

And all her pil­lars mourn.

He bids the sun for­bear to rise;

Th’obedient sun for­bears:

His hand with sack­cloth spreads the skies

And seals up all the stars.

He walks up­on the stor­my sea;

Flies on the stor­my wind:

There’s none can trace His won­drous way

Or His dark foot­steps find.