Who shall as­cend Thy heav’n­ly place,
Great God, and dwell be­fore Thy face?
The man that minds re­li­gion now,
And hum­bly walks with God be­low.

Whose hands are pure, whose heart is clean,
Whose lips still speak the thing they mean;
No slan­ders dwell up­on his tongue;
He hates to do his neigh­bor wrong.

Scarce will he trust an ill re­port,
Nor vents it to his neigh­bor’s hurt:
Sinners of state he can des­pise,
But saints are hon­ored in his eyes.

Firm to his word he ev­er stood,
And al­ways makes his pro­mise good;
Nor dares to change the thing he swears,
Whatever pain or loss he bears.

He ne­ver deals in brib­ing gold,
And mourns that jus­tice should be sold:
While oth­ers gripe and grind the poor,
Sweet cha­ri­ty at­tends his door.

He loves his ene­mies, and prays
For those that curse him to his face:
And doth to all men still the same
That he would hope or wish from them.

Yet, when his ho­li­est works are done,
His soul de­pends on grace alone:
This is the man Thy face shall see,
And dwell for ev­er, Lord, with Thee.