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?

Thy deeds, let sacred justice rule;

thy heart, let mercy fill;

And, walking humbly with thy God,

to him resign thy will.