HYMN XX. Election, sovereign & free, Ro. ix.21

The potter moulds the pliant clay, And forms to various shapes with ease; Such is our God, and such are we, The subjects of his high decrees.

May not the sovereign Lord on high Dispense his savours as he will, Choose some to life, while others die, And yet be just and gracious still?

Shall man reply against the Lord, And call his Maker's ways unjust, The thunder of whose dreadful word Can crush a thousand worlds to dust?

But, O my soul, if truth so bright Should dazzle and confound thy sight, Yet still his written will obey, And wait the great decisive day.

Then shall he make his justice known, And the whole world, before his throne, With joy or terror, shall confess His sovereign power and pardoning grace.