To vindicate my words and thoughts

I'll make no more pretence;

Not one of all my thousand faults

Can bear a just defence.

Strong is his arm, his heart is wise;

What vain presumers dare

Against their Maker's hand to rise,

Or tempt th' unequal war?

[Mountains, by his almighty wrath,

From their old seats are torn;

He shakes the earth from south to north,

And all her pillars mourn.

He bids the sun forbear to rise,

Th' obedient sun forbears;

His hand with sackcloth spreads the skies,

And seals up all the stars.

He walks upon the stormy sea,

Flies on the stormy wind;

There's none can trace his wondrous way,

Or his dark footsteps find.]