Classic Poem

When sinners feel the chast'ning rod,
Unjustly they complain:
Shall man the righteousness of God
Presumptuously arraign?

Far be't from God's imperial throne,
To practise wickedness:
Can th' infinitely holy one
The rules of right transgress?

Justice divine, with wages meet,
The work of men repays,
And will each son of Adam treat
According to his ways.

Yea, sure, as he is God upright,
He'll act no wicked part;
And sure, as he's the God of might,
He judgment won't pervert.

For who of fraud, or violence,
Dare God most high indite,
Whose wisdom and omnipotence
Does guide all nature right?

Can any higher being be,
Whose laws he should observe,
Or pow'r superior in degree,
From truth to make him swerve?

'Tis certain, therefore, he in whom
Perfections all abound,
Whose pow'r no pow'r can overcome,
With justice must be crown'd.

His mind, to which no stain adheres,
Shines ever pure and bright:
No maculating spot appears
In uncreated light.

He who is sov'reign Lord of all,
Can inj'ry do to none:
Whate'er he takes, how great or small,
He but resumes his own.

All beings are his utensils,
And creatures of his pow'r;
Nor can they longer than he wills
In use or being 'dure.

Should he recal man's vital breath,
He did at first inspire,
All mankind, perishing by death,
Would to the grave retire.

All mortal flesh to mother dust,
At pleasure he remands:
Immortal souls for judgment just,
Unto their Father's hands.