Rulers of Sodom! hear the voice

of heav’n’s eternal Lord;

Men of Gomorrah! bend your ear

submissive to his word.

’Tis thus he speaks; To what intent

are your oblations vain?

Why load my altars with your gifts,

polluted and profane?

Burnt-off’rings long may blaze to heav’n,

and incense cloud the skies;

The worship and the worshipper

are hateful in my eyes.

Your rites, your fasts, your pray’rs, I scorn,

and pomp of solemn days:

I know your hearts are full of guile,

and Crooked are your ways.

But cleanse your hands, ye guilty race,

and cease from deeds of sin;

Learn in your actions to be just,

and pure in heart within.

Mock not my name with honours vain,

but keep my holy laws;

Do justice to the friendless poor,

and plead the widow’s cause.

Then though your guilty souls are stained

with sins of crimson dye,

Yet, through my grace with snow itself

in whiteness they shall vie.