In low tones, 

 Sepulchral, and with pain, the sufferer spake, 

 "I know that this is truth, but how can man 

 Be just with God? How shall he dare contend 

 With Him who stretches out the sky and treads 

 Upon the mountain billows of the sea, 

 And sealeth up the stars? 

 Array'd in strength, 

 He passeth by me, but I see Him not. 

 I hear His chariot-wheels, yet fear to ask 

 Where goest Thou? 

 If I, indeed, were pure, 

 And perfect, like the model ye see fit 

 To press upon me with your sharpest words, 

 I would not in mine arrogance arise 

 And reason with Him, but all humbly make 

 Petition to my Judge. 

 If there were one 

 To shield me from His terrors, and to stand 

 As mediator, I might dare to ask 

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