"Dominion is with God, and fear. He makes Peace in his own high places. Dost thou know The number of His armies? Or on whom His light ariseth not? How then can man Be justified with God? or he be pure Born of a woman. Lo! the cloudless Moon, And yon unsullied stars, are in His sight Dim and impure. Can man who is a worm Be spotless with his Maker?" Hark, the voice Of the afflicted man: "How dost thou help Him that is powerless? how sustain the arm That fails in strength? how counsel him who needs Wisdom? and how declare the righteous truth Just as it is? To Him who reads the soul, Hades is naked, and the realms of Death Have naught to cover them. This pendent Earth Hangs on his word,--in gathering clouds he binds The ponderous waters, till at his command They rend their filmy prison. Day and night Await his nod to run their measured course. Heaven's pillars and its everlasting gates Tremble at his reproof. The cleaving sea And man's defeated pride confess his power. Yet the same Hand that garnisheth the skies Disdaineth not to fashion and sustain The crooked serpent. But how small a part Of all its works are understood by us Dim dwellers in this lowly vestibule, And by the thunders of mysterious power Still held in awe. As the Eternal lives Who hath bow'd down my soul, as long as breath Inspires this mortal frame, these lips shall ne'er Utter deceit, nor cast away the wealth Of a good conscience. While I live I'll hold Fast mine integrity,--nor justify The slanderous charges of a secret guilt Ye bring against me. For what is the gain Of the base hypocrite when God shall take Away his perjured soul? Yourselves have seen How often in this life the wicked taste Of retribution. The oppressor bears Sway for a while,--but look!--the downfall comes. His offspring shall not flourish, nor his grave Be wet with widow's tears. The unjust rich man Heapeth up silver for a stranger's hand, He hoardeth raiment with a miser's greed To robe he knows not who, though he himself Had grudg'd to wear it. Boastfully he builds A costly mansion to preserve his name Among the people. But like the slight booth, Brief lodge of summer, shall it pass away. Terrors without a cause, disable him And drown his courage. Like a driven leaf Before the whirlwind, shall he hasten down To a dishonor'd tomb. Men shall rejoice, And clap their hands, and hiss him from his place When he departs. Surely, there is a vein For silver, and a secret bed for gold Which man discovers. Where the iron sleeps In darkest chambers of the mine he knows, And how the brass is molten. But a Mind Deeper than his, close-hidden things explores, Searching out all perfection. Earth unveils The mystic treasures of her matron breast, Bread for her children, gems like living flame,