Fourth Choir Of Angelicals

Praise to the Holiest in the height, And in the depth be praise: In all His words most wonderful; Most sure in all His ways!

The foe blasphemed the Holy Lord, As if He reckoned ill, In that He placed His puppet man The frontier place to fill.

For even in his best estate, With amplest gifts endued, A sorry sentinel was he, A being of flesh and blood.

As though a thing, who for his help Must needs possess a wife, Could cope with those proud rebel hosts, Who had angelic life.

And when, by blandishment of Eve, That earth-born Adam fell, He shrieked in triumph, and he cried, "A sorry sentinel;

The Maker by His word is bound, Escape or cure is none; He must abandon to his doom, And slay His darling son."