The Humble Inquiry

Grace rules be­low

and sits en­throned ab­ove

How few the sparks of wrath! how slow they move

And drop and die in bound­less seas of love!

But me

vile wretch! should pi­ty­ing love em­brace

Deep in its ocean

hell it­self would blaze

And flash and burn me through the bound­less seas.

Yea

Lord

my guilt to such a vast­ness grown

Seems to con­fine my choice to wrath alone

And calls Thy pow­er to vin­di­cate Thy throne.

Thine hon­or bids

Av­enge Thy in­jured name

Thy slight­ed loves a dread­ful glo­ry claim

While my moist tears might but in­cense Thy flame.

Should heav’n grow black

al­migh­ty thun­der roar

And ven­geance blast me

I could plead no more

But own Thy jus­tice

dy­ing

and ad­ore.

Yet can those bolts of death that cleave the flood

To reach a re­bel

pierce this sac­red shroud

Tinged in the vi­tal stream of my Re­deem­er’s blood?