1 Thus speaks the heathen: How shall man
the Pow’r Supreme adore?
With what accepted off’rings come
his mercy to implore?
2 Shall clouds of incense to the skies
with grateful odour speed?
or victims from a thousand hills
upon the altar bleed?

3 Does justice nobler blood demand
to save the sinner’s life?
Shall, trembling, in his offspring’s side
the father plunge the knife?
4 No: God rejects the bloody rites
which blindfold zeal began;
his oracles of truth proclaim
the message brought to man.

5 He what is good hath clearly shown,
O favoured race! to thee;
and what doth God require of those
who bend to him the knee?
6 Thy deeds, let sacred justice rule;
thy heart, let mercy fill;
and, walking humbly with thy God,
to him resign thy will.