Thus speaks the heathen: How shall man
the Pow’r Supreme adore?
With what accepted off’rings come
his mercy to implore?

Shall clouds of incense to the skies
with grateful odour speed?
Or victims from a thousand hills
upon the altar bleed?

Does justice nobler blood demand
to save the sinner’s life?
Shall, trembling, in his offspring’s side
the father plunge the knife?

No: God rejects the bloody rites
which blindfold zeal began;
His oracles of truth proclaim
the message brought to man.

He what is good hath clearly shown,
O favoured race! to thee;
And what doth God require of those
who bend to him the knee?

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Thy deeds, let sacred justice rule;
thy heart, let mercy fill;
And, walking humbly with thy God,
to him resign thy will.