"Where are the mourners," saith the Lord,

"That wait and tremble at my word,

That walk in darkness all the day?

Come, make my name your trust and stay.

["No works nor duties of your own

Can for the smallest sin atone

The robes that nature may provide

Will not your least pollutions hide.

"The softest couch that nature knows

Can give the conscience no repose;

Look to my righteousness and live;

Comfort and peace are mine to give.]

"Ye sons of pride, that kindle coals

With your own hands, to warm your souls

Walk in the light of your own fire,

Enjoy the sparks that ye desire:

"This is your portion at my hands;--

Hell waits you with her iron bands;

Ye shall lie down in sorrow there,

In death, in darkness, and despair."