Hymn CXVII. Common Metre

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

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

Strong is his arm, his heart is wise, What vain presumers dare Against their maker's power to rise, And impious war declare!

Mountains, by his almighty wrath, From their old seats are torn; He shakes the pillars of the earth, And all the nations mourn.

Through the wide air, the mighty rocks Are swift as hail-stones thrown; Whilst Etna pours with horrid shocks, Her melted entrails down.

He bids the Sun forbear to rise, Th' obedient Sun forbears; His hand with darkness spreads the skies, And seals up all the stars.

He walks upon the stormy sea, And rides upon the wind; No flesh can trace his wond'rous way, Nor his dark footsteps find.

Yet, mighty God, thy sovereign grace Sits regent on the throne, The refuge of thy chosen race, When wrath comes rushing down.