Classic Poem

Thus speaks the heathen: How shall man
The Power 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 favour'd 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.