The Lord hath spoke, the migh­ty God
Hath sent His sum­mons all abroad,
From dawn­ing light, till day de­clines;
The list­en­ing earth His voice hath heard,
And He from Si­on hath ap­peared,
Where beau­ty in per­fect­ion shines.

Our God shall come, and keep no more
Misconstrued si­lence, as be­fore;
But wast­ing flames be­fore Him send:
Around shall tem­pests fierce­ly rage,
While He does Heav’n and earth en­gage
His just tri­bun­al to at­tend.

Assemble all My saints to Me,
Thus runs the great di­vine de­cree,
That in My last­ing co­ve­nant live,
And of­fer­ings bring with con­stant care:
The heav’ns His jus­tice shall de­clare,
For God Him­self shall sen­tence give.

Attend, My peo­ple, Is­ra­el, hear;
Thy strong ac­cus­er I’ll ap­pear;
Thy God, thy on­ly God, am I:
’Tis not of of­fer­ings I com­plain,
Which, dai­ly in My tem­ple slain,
My sac­red al­tar did sup­ply.

Will this alone atone­ment make?
No bul­lock from thy stall I’ll take,
Nor he-goat from thy fold ac­cept;
The for­est beasts that range alone,
The cat­tle, too, are all My own,
That on a thou­sand hills are kept.

I know the fowls that build their nests
In crag­gy rocks, and sav­age beasts,
That loose­ly haunt the op­en fields:
If seized with hung­er I could be,
I need not seek re­lief from thee,
Since the world’s Mine, and all it yields.

Think’st thou that I have any need
On slaugh­tered bulls and goats to feed,
To eat their flesh, and drink their blood?
The sac­ri­fic­es I re­quire,
Are hearts which love and zeal in­spire,
And vows with strict­est care made good.

In time of trou­ble call on Me,
And I will set thee safe and free,
And thou re­turns of praise shalt make;
But to the wick­ed thus sa­ith God:
How dar’st thou teach My laws abroad,
Or in thy mouth My co­ve­nant take?

For stub­born thou, con­firmed in sin,
Hast proof against in­struct­ion been,
And of My word did light­ly speak:
When thou a sub­tle thief did see,
Thou glad­ly didst with him agree,
And with adul­ter­ers didst par­take.

Vile slan­der is thy chief de­light;
Thy tongue, by en­vy moved, and spite,
Deceitful tales does hour­ly spread.
Thou dost with hate­ful scan­dals wound
Thy bro­ther, and with lies con­found
The off­spring of thy mo­ther’s bed.

These things didst thou, whom still I strove
To gain with si­lence, and with love;
Till thou didst wick­ed­ly sur­mise,
That I was such a one as thou:
But I’ll re­prove and shame thee now,
And set thy sins be­fore thine eyes.

Mark this, ye wick­ed fools, lest I
Let all My bolts of ven­geance fly,
While none shall dare your cause to own;
Who prais­es Me, due hon­or gives,
And to the man that just­ly lives,
My strong sal­va­tion shall be shown.