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.]